*  Ft Utti 


8974 


WANDERING  FIRES 


BY  THE  SAME  AUTHOR 

TEMPERAMENT 

THE  HOLIDAY  HUSBAND 

THE  STORY  OF  EDEN 

CAPTAIN  AMYAS 

As  YE  HAVE  SOWN 

MAFOOTA 

ROSE-WHITE  YOUTH 

THE  PATHWAY  OF  A  PIONEER 

TROPICAL  TALES 

THE  RIDING  MASTER 

THE  UNOFFICIAL  HONEYMOON 

YOUTH  WILL  BE  SERVED 

THE  RAT  TRAP 

EXILE 

THE  PATHETIC  SNOBS 

THE  CAREER  OF  BEAUTY  DARLING 


VERSES 

THE  MAGDALENE  AND  OTHER  VERSES 


WANDERING  FIRES 

By  DOLF  WYLLARDE  Author  of 


Holiday  Husband/'  "Temperament,"  "The  Story  of 
Eden,"  "The  Rat  Trap,"  etc. 


NEW  YORK:  JOHN  LANE  COMPANY 
MCMXXI 


Copyright,   1921, 
By  JOHN  LANE  COMPANY 


Printed  in  the  United  States  of  Americp 


WANDERING  FIRES 


2138997 


CHAPTER  I 

A  SENSE  of  humour  is  one  way  to  heaven. 
Mary,  looking  at  Eddie  Thorne,  decided 
that  it  was  unlikely  he  would  ever  enter 
therein  through  the  straight  and  narrow  way ;  but 
the  angels  should  be  guilty  of  connivance  to  admit 
him.  His  eyes  danced,  and  it  fascinated  her.  Even 
Peter  should  be  indulgent  if  Eddie  came  up  to  the 
Gate  with  that  air  of  finding  something  to  laugh  at 
in  the  situation.  He  would  be  demurely  surprised 
to  find  himself  there. 

Mr.  Thorne  was  sitting  on  a  tree-stump,  with  his 
arms  resting  on  his  knees  and  his  hands  dropped 
loosely  between  them.  In  this  attitude  he  could 
look  at  Mary  with  an  intentness  that  she  should 
have  resented  and  did  not.  They  had  known  each 
other  for  the  space  of  one  week  and  had  come  to 
Christian  names  and  the  freedom  of  years  of  in- 
timacy. Some  affinity  between  them  there  must 
have  been,  were  it  only  of  laughter  and  good 
spirits. 

The  girl  was  lying  back  in  the  hammock,  one 
foot  dangling  over  the  edge,  and  her  hands  clasped 
under  her  sleek  head — somewhat  ruffled  now  by  the 
cushions  he  had  arranged  for  her.  From  half- 
closed,  smiling  eyes  she  looked  covertly  at  Eddie, 
and  Eddie  looked  back  at  her  with  no  pretence  at 
all  about  it. 

1 1  Your  hair  is  all  rough,  Molly !  "  he  said, '  *  and 

7 


8 

you  oughtn't  to  wear  silk  stockings  in  the  morning 
when  you  are  knocking  about  the  Wilderness 
amongst  those  brambles.  It's  awfully  extrava- 
gant. ' '  He  laid  his  hand  with  a  swift  light  touch 
on  the  small  ankle  and  arch  of  her  instep  and 
stroked  them.  The  audacity  was  so  quick  that  it 
was  over  almost  before  it  was  begun;  and  he 
laughed,  with  an  inimitable  movement  away  from 
her  as  if  he  expected  to  be  cuffed. 

"  You  are  impertinent!  " 

' '  I  know  I  am.  I  used  to  be  shy  until  I  found 
that  I  was  losing  my  chances.  You  would  much 
rather  that  I  was  impertinent.  You  like  it!  ' 

"  And  as  to  the  stockings,"  said  Mary,  while 
she  wondered  if  he  spoke  the  truth,  "  I  simply 
couldn't  find  any  others  to  go  with  my  shoes. 
You  should  talk  to  Berkeley,  it 's  her  fault.  She 's 
so  tidy  that  I  never  have  a  clothe  to  wear. ' ' 

"  I  don't  want  to  talk  to  Berkeley;  or  to  any- 
body else,  when  I  can  talk  to  you. ' ' 

"  Well,  talk  to  me!  " 

"  When  I  talk  to  you  I  want  to  do  something 
more." 

"  Well,  do  something  more !  " 

"  Shall  II    You'd  be  awfully  angry  if  I  did." 

' '  Not  a  bit — besides,  you  know  you  daren  't !  ' 

Thome  got  up,  put  a  hand  on  either  side  the 
hammock,  and  leaned  towards  her.  His  move- 
ments, as  always,  were  swift,  and  the  moment  was 
critical.  But  Mary,  looking  over  his  shoulder, 
saw  rescue  in  the  nick  of  time,  and  drew  a  sharp 
breath. 

"Eddie!  There's  a  strange  man  walking 
across  the  lawn.  He's  coming  this  way.  Go  and 
see  what  he  wants,  for  heaven's  sake.  He's 
mad!  " 

Thome  turned  as  swiftly  as  he  had  stooped,  to 


WANDERING  FIRES  9 

discover  that  it  was  true.  A  man  in  boating  flan- 
nels and  a  straw  hat  was  walking  across  the 
smooth  lawn  that  sloped  to  the  river  Thames, 
looking  about  him  as  he  came  and  evidently  in 
search  of  someone  to  interrogate.  The  cottage 
stood  well  back  from  the  river,  and  it  was  evident 
that  he  had  caught  sight  of  the  hammock  under 
the  beech  tree  before  he  found  the  way  to  the 
house,  and  hesitated,  as  if  he  wished  to  explain 
his  intrusion.  The  puzzle  was  how  he  got  there, 
since  the  front  of  Captain  Trefusis'  riverside  cot- 
tage opened  into  a  drive  leading  to  the  high  road, 
and  the  stranger  was  approaching  from  the  gar- 
dens at  the  back. 

Thome  stepped  out  of  the  shade  of  the  great 
beech  and  went  to  meet  him,  without  haste  but 
quite  decidedly.  Mary  looked  after  him,  more  con- 
cerned with  him  at  the  moment  than  the  intruder. 
Eddie  had  played  cricket  for  his  county  until  the 
war,  and  was  known  as  a  safe  and  reliable  bat ;  he 
was  a  slow  bowler,  with  a  break  from  the  off — but 
he  never  got  runs  or  took  wickets  so  well  as  when 
a  band  was  playing,  which  was  significant  to  a 
student  of  psychology.  Most  people,  however,  like 
Mary  Trefusis,  thought  of  his  physique  rather 
than  his  temperament  in  connection  with  his  no- 
toriety in  the  world  of  sport.  He  was  rather  long 
in  the  back,  and  walked  with  a  suppleness  that  be- 
longs only  to  the  athlete.  She  adored  Eddie's 
walk.  Without  being  graceful  he  made  other  men 
look  clumsy.  It  struck  her  as  a  mercy  of  Provi- 
dence that  he  had  not  been  maimed  in  the  war, 
though  he  came  off  with  enough  shrapnel  in  him  to 
prevent  his  riding  races  or  playing  first-class 
cricket  for  the  present. 

The  past  moment  had  left  her  a  little  breathless. 
It  was  seldom  that  Mary  Trefusis  lost  her  breath, 


10  WANDEBING  FIEES 

even  though  she  said  outrageous  things  to  men  as 
the  whim  seized  her.  She  took  their  forbearance 
for  granted,  and  on  the  whole  it  seldom  failed  her. 
When  it  did  she  was  furious — but  she  was  not 
furious  with  Eddie  Thorne,  because  he  amused 
her,  and  he  was  too  good  a  comrade  to  be  taken 
seriously.  There  were  several  reasons  why  she 
valued  him,  not  the  least  being  that  every  relation 
she  had  objected  to  an  intimacy  between  them, 
and  told  her  in  unstinted  terms  of  his  past  career. 
There  had  been  some  connivance  by  mutual  friends 
to  prevent  their  becoming  acquainted,  and  that  it 
had  happened  at  last  was  due  to  accident. 

Mary  watched  the  two  men  meet,  and  the  con- 
versation that  followed.  It  did  not  end,  as  she 
expected,  with  the  stranger  raising  his  hat  in 
apology  and  being  politely  directed  off  the  prop- 
erty. The  explanation  of  his  presence  there 
seemed  to  be  engrossing,  for  the  two  men  stood 
talking  for  some  minutes,  with  gestures  to  the 
garden  and  the  house,  until  her  curiosity  became 
impatience.  She  sat  up  in  the  hammock  and 
swung  her  feet  to  the  ground  just  as  Thorne 
turned  and  led  the  way  over  the  lawn  towards  her, 
followed  by  the  stranger. 

"  Look  here,  Miss  Trefusis,"  he  said,  as  he 
reached  her — Eddie's  manners  in  public  were  in- 
corruptible. "  This  is  Mr.  Jefferson  Bromley, 
and  he  wants  to  know  if  you  will  allow  some  cinema 
pictures  to  be  taken  of  your  garden.  He  and  his 
fellow  artists  arrived  in  a  boat,  and  seeing  your 
landing-stage  they  sent  him  ashore  to  make 
enquiries. ' ' 

"  I  hope  you  will  forgive  the  liberty,"  said  the 
stranger,  with  a  voice  and  manner  as  charming  in 
their  way  as  Thome's,  though  he  spoke  with  a 
clearness  and  emphasis  that  not  only  belonged  to 


WANDERING  FIRES  11 

his  profession  but  were  not  quite  British.  *  *  Your 
garden  is  so  delightful  and  so  exactly  what  we 
want  that  I  could  not  resist  asking  the  owner's 
permission. ' ' 

"  My  father  is  away,"  said  Mary  eagerly.  "  But 
/  will  give  you  permission !  Do  bring  your  people 
in  and  take  pictures!  It  will  be  grand  fun!  ' 
She  sprang  to  her  feet,  looking  from  one  man  to 
the  other  with  wide,  childish  eyes.  "  Where  are 
they?  "  she  said  excitedly. 

"  In  a  boat,  waiting  at  your  landing-stage," 
said  the  actor.  "  I'll  go  and  tell  them  that  they 
have  your  permission  to  land,  and  bring  the  op- 
erator, if  I  may?  ' 

"  Come  along!  "  said  Thorne  readily.  His 
glance  met  Mary's  with  the  mutual  enjoyment  that 
had  been  a  factor  in  their  friendship.  Eddie  was 
always  ready  for  an  adventure,  and  the  young 
blood  in  her  veins  ran  quicker  to  answer  him.  As 
a  matter  of  fact  they  were  both  delighted  at  the 
novelty  of  the  thing,  and  pleased  to  find  that  Jef- 
ferson Bromley  was  undeniably  a  gentleman  what- 
ever his  associates  might  prove  to  be. 

"  Will  you  want  anything  arranged — chairs,  or 
tables,  or  anything  brought  out  ?  ' '  said  Mary,  her 
whole  heart  instantly  in  the  proceedings.  "  Do 
tell  us  what  you  would  like !  ' ' 

"If  we  might  have  a  tea-table — would  it  be 
much  trouble?  The  scene  is  supposed  to  be  an  un- 
expected meeting  of  the  hero  and  heroine  at  a 
party  up  the  river.  They  are  introduced  to  each 
other  as  strangers  by  their  hostess,  being  of  course 
secretly  married  and  estranged !  There  is  tea  and 
tennis  going  on " 

"  Yes,  of  course — topping  fun!  I'll  go  and  tell 
James  to  bring  out  everything. ' '  She  was  radiant 
with  amusement  and  interest.  "  Go  down  to  the 


12 

boat  with  Mr.  Bromley,  Eddie,  and  bring  the  oh  or 
people  up,'*  she  said,  forgetting  to  be  cautio  ,n 
her  turn  and  the  tact  of  his  "  Miss  Trefuois." 
But  Mary  rarely  remembered  the  conventions  she 
demanded  of  other  people. 

She  raced  away  to  the  house  while  the  two  men 
walked  over  the  lawn  and  down  to  the  landing- 
stage  to  disembark  the  rest  of  the  company.  They 
were  not  so  very  many  after  all:  the  operator, 
who,  with  Bromley,  was  practically  in  charge  of 
the  proceedings,  two  other  men,  an  elderly  lady 
with  powdered  hair,  and  two  girls.  The  powder 
looked  well  in  the  pictures,  but  all  the  face?  of  the 
performers  were  made  up  with  what  is  called  five, 
or  five-and-a-half  grease-paint,  in  the  profession, 
and  were  a  yellowish  white  to  prevent  their  ap- 
pearing black  upon  the  screen  as  would  otherwise 
have  been  the  case.  Thome's  observant  eyes 
danced  again  at  their  bizarre  appearance,  but  in 
spite  of  the  paint  he  noted  that  one  of  them  at 
least  was  a  pretty  young  woman  with  a  somewhat 
full  figure  in  a  flowing  gown.  She  was  introduced 
to  him  as  the  leading  lady,  Miss  May  Moon. 

"  Awful  cheek,  our  rushing  you  like  this!  "  she 
said,  walking  by  Thome's  side  over  the  smooth 
sward  to  the  terraced  gardens  that  lay  beyond. 
"  But  we  were  up  against  it  for  a  riverside  scene, 
and  when  we  saw  this  we  just  screamed!  Hope 
the  people  here  don't  think  us  a  howling 
nuisance?  "  , 

'  *  Not  at  all — we  are  awfully  keen  on  it,  servants 
and  all!  You  have  caused  a  flutter  through  the 
whole  of  Restawhile." 

"  Is  that  the  name  of  the  cottage?  You  see  we 
came  in  by  the  back  stairs,  as  it  were,  so  we  don't 
know.  It's  simply  sweet,  I  think.  Who's  the 
owner?  " 


WANDERING  FIRES  13 

^Captain  Trefusis." 
he  about!  ' 

"  No — he's  gone  to  Sandown." 

11  Oh,  he's  a  racing  man!  '  Miss  Moon  spoke 
with  the  certainty  of  inexperience.  The  social 
attractions  of  race-meetings,  even  to  men  who 
hardly  cared  to  have  a  sovereign  on  a  horse,  were 
unknown  to  her.  ' '  Who 's  giving  us  permission  to 
take  the  pictures  then?  "  she  said. 

"  His  daughter  is  here — she  was  only  too 
pleased  to  have  the  chance  of  seeing  a  cinema  re- 
hearsal. Is  it  a  rehearsal,  or  the  real  thing?  ' 

"  W?ll,  it's  both.  We  shall  try  the  scene  a  bit, 
and  then  put  it  through,  we  hope.  We  are  working 
on  a  new  film — five  reels.  It's  going  to  be  a  big 
production. ' ' 

Thorne  knew  as  little  of  five-reel  productions  as 
Miss  Moon  did  of  bachelor  parties  for  race-meet- 
ings, but  he  was  very  much  more  adroit  in  conceal- 
ing his  ignorance.  He  looked  at  the  girl's  full, 
smooth  face  and  smiled  into  her  bistred  eyes.  The 
yellow  paint  on  her  rounded  cheeks  was  so  odd, 
taken  in  conjunction  with  her  blackened  lashes, 
that  he  found  it  rather  piquant.  Furthermore,  he 
found  a  strong  attraction  in  anything  which  he 
called  '  *  Bohemian, ' '  and  the  whole  of  the  cinema 
company  might  be  grouped  under  that  heading  to 
his  hopeful  mind.  He  did  not  really  know  any- 
thing at  all  about  the  Bohemian  world,  for  he  was 
an  open-air  man  rather  than  an  explorer  in  dissi- 
pation ;  but  he  used  the  word  to  express  a  laxity  in 
morals  and  a  general  licence  as  applied  to  his  own 
behaviour,  and  he  found  it  very  easy  to  assimilate. 
He  would  have  described  a  fast  woman  of  his  own 
world  as  "  Bohemian  "  though  she  was  as  far  re- 
moved from  the  manners  and  customs  of  that  free 
community  as  a  game-keeper  from  the  gipsies.  In 


14  WANDERING  FIEES 

the  present  instance  Miss  Moon  arrested  his  atten- 
tion because  her  work  demanded  that  she  should 
make  up  her  face,  and  he  took  that  as  a  suggestion 
that  prompted  his  next  speech. 

11  You  are  the  heroine,  of  course?  "  he  said.  "  I 
envy  the  hero !  ' ' 

"I'm  lead,  yes.  You  ought  to  come  and  see  the 
film  when  it's  released.  It  will  be  at  all  the  prin- 
cipal halls." 

* '  Of  course  I  shall — but  I  like  seeing  it  this  way 
much  better." 

"  You'll  only  get  a  scene  or  two." 

' '  Yes — but  I  really  see  you  in  those  scenes,  and 
I  only  see  your  photograph  when  it 's  produced. ' ' 

She  smiled  with  the  conscious  vanity  of  a  screen 
beauty.  "  Do  you  know,  I'm  wondering  who  you 
are,"  she  said.  "  You  are  not  Captain  Trefusis' 
son?  " 

"  No." 

"  Or — his  son-in-law?  " 

"  Not  even  that." 

"  Oh,  don't  tell  me  if  you  don't  want  to !  ' 

It  was  not  very  often  that  Mr.  Edward  Thorne 
was  aslied  to  define  his  position  anywhere,  or  in 
any  circumstances.  In  the  present  instance  the 
explanation  was  difficult.  It  occurred  to  him  as 
distinctly  humorous  that  he  did  not  know  what 
to  say. 

"  I  am  only  a  friend  who  is  allowed  on  visiting 
terms  at  Restawhile,"  he  said,  rather  admiring  his 
own  lie.  He  was  certainly  not ' '  allowed  ' '  on  vis- 
iting terms  by  Mary's  female  relatives  so  much  as 
by  the  carelessness  of  her  father.  "  I  dropped  in 
this  morning  to  see  if  Miss  Trefusis  would  come 
boating,  and  by  good  luck  came  in  for  your  show. 
My  name  is  Thorne. ' ' 


WANDERING  FIRES  15 

"  Well,  now  we  know  each  other,  anyway !  ' '  said 
Miss  Moon,  as  they  reached  the  group  of  trees 
where  Mary  was  directing  the  men-servants  to 
place  chairs  and  a  tea-table.  She  had  thrown  her 
whole  energies  into  the  matter  and  was  flying  to 
and  fro  like  a  whirl- wind,  bringing  out  cushions 
and  rustic  stools,  and  a  plate  of  fruit  which  she 
banged  down  on  to  the  tea-table,  making  the  tea- 
cups ring. 

"  We  always  have  fruit  at  tea-time — I  thought 
it  looked  more  natural.  And  you  can  all  walk 
about  eating  strawberries  and  talking  with  your 
mouths  full!  "  she  said  breathlessly  to  Bromley. 

Of  course  the  position  she  had  chosen  for  the 
tea-table  was  all  wrong,  and  the  dense  shade  of  the 
trees  impossible  for  the  projected  work.  Bromley 
altered  the  grouping  in  consultation  with  the  op- 
erator, and  with  perfect  tact  got  the  servants  to 
enter  into  the  spirit  of  the  thing,  arranging  the 
scene  with  the  right  setting.  He  was  playing  lead 
this  morning,  but  in  the  absence  of  the  manager 
and  producer  he  had  taken  on  some  of  his  duties. 
He  was  aware,  as  he  placed  his  stage,  that  Miss 
Trefusis  was  hovering  round  him,  tense  with  ex- 
citement, her  eyes  following  everything  he  said 
with  the  innocent  absorption  of  a  child. 

"  Do  let  the  men  bring  in  the  tea  or  do  some- 
thing, so  that  they  can  be  in  the  picture,"  she  said. 
'  *  They  would  be  so  bucked !  ' ' 

' '  Certainly,  if  you  don 't  mind.  I  will  show  them 
what  I  want  them  to  do.  They  must  be  content  to 
be  well  in  the  background  though,  as  they  are  not 
made  up  at  all." 

"  Why?  What  difference  does  all  that  paint  on 
your  faces  make?  I've  been  dying  to  ask  you!  ' 

'  *  Well,  if  it  were  not  there  we  should  all  appear 


16  WANDERING  FIRES 

to  be  black !  Of  course  a  negro  cast  would  be  in- 
teresting, but  your  men  might  be  disappointed  in 
themselves!  " 

The  actor  left  Mary  to  laugh,  and  drew  the  eld- 
erly butler  and  Captain  Trefusis '  own  servant  on 
one  side,  proceeding  to  coach  them  and  finding 
them  far  quicker  to  grasp  his  meaning  than  re- 
cruits from  a  higher  social  grade,  as  is  often  the 
case.  Then  he  turned  again  to  his  hostess. 

"  Would  you  mind  coming  on  yourself!  Just 
with  your  racquet  in  your  hand  as  if  you  had  been 
playing  tennis,  and  to  drink  a  cup  of  tea  up  stage  ? 
We  want  another  guest  or  so — if  you  and  Mr. 
Thorne  would  help  us  ?  Perhaps  you  would  rather 
not,  though?  ' 

' '  We  should  be  perfectly  thrilled !  ' '  She  called 
to  Thorne  in  her  fresh  young  voice,  her  slightly 
flushed  face  turned  to  him  over  her  shoulder. 
Bromley,  looking  down  on  her,  thought  he  had 
never  seen  a  more  beautiful  girl  of  her  particular 
type.  She  was  so  young,  so  mutinous,  so  delicately 
vivid.  She  seemed  in  love  with  life  and  at  war 
with  it  at  the  same  time. 

Thorne  left  his  flirtation  with  Miss  Moon,  and 
joined  Mary  Trefusis  at  her  summons.  She  seized 
him  by  the  arm  in  her  excitement,  and  gave  it  a 
little  squeeze,  oblivious  of  the  fact  that  it  must  be 
amusingly  obvious  to  the  actor. 

"  Eddie,  Mr.  Bromley  says  we  may  both  be  in 
the  picture — up  at  the  back  because  we  are  not 
painted  yellow  and  our  faces  would  be  black! 
They  want  some  more  guests  at  their  tea-party. 
I'm  to  come  on  with  a  tennis-racquet,  and  you — 
what  is  Mr.  Thorne  to  do !  "  she  flashed  round  on 
Bromley,  all  big  eyes  and  flushed  cheeks  and  parted 
lips. 

"  I  thought  if  Mr.  Thorne  were  standing  by  the 


WANDERING  FIEES  17 

tea-table  behind  the  hostess,  when  the  heroine  en- 
ters, he  could  shake  hands  with  her  and  have  a  lit- 
tle conversation.  Then  she  turns  away  down  stage 
and  comes  face  to  face  with  me  and  '  suppresses 
her  emotion  at  sight  of  Carruthers  '  ' — he  quoted 
from  the  sub-title,  laughing.  "  It  makes  it  more 
natural. ' ' 

11  My  dear  feller,"  said  Thorne  easily,  "  may  I 
really  have  some  conversation  with  Miss  Moon,  or 
must  I  hold  her  hand  and  do  it  in  pantomime?  I 
shall  make  a  better  show  of  it  if  I  may  talk. ' ' 

"  Oh,  yes,  talk — talk  by  all  means.  I  want  you 
to.  Look,  Miss  Trefusis,  will  you  stroll  down  with 
me  from  that  terrace,  and  stand  with  me  for  a 
minute  while  Miss  Moon  makes  her  entrance? 
Suppose  we  try  it  first?  " 

Mary  had  dropped  Thorne 's  arm  and  appeared 
utterly  unconscious  that  she  had  taken  it;  but 
Jefferson  Bromley  could  not  help  wondering  a  lit- 
tle who  "  Eddie  "  was,  much  as  May  Moon  had 
done,  and  what  were  his  relations  with  this  pretty, 
odd  girl.  There  was  no  ring  on  her  left  hand,  and 
Bromley  was  unconsciously  dependent  on  such 
sign  manuals.  The  indifference  with  which  she 
left  Thorne,  too,  and  followed  at  his  own  heels,  was 
puzzling;  but  then  Thorne  himself,  in  his  turn, 
seemed  quite  ready  to  take  the  goods  the  gods  pro- 
vided in  the  more  matured  May.  Eddie  had  per- 
haps forgotten  that  not  twenty  minutes  since  he 
had  told  Mary  he  wanted  to  talk  to  no  one  else 
when  she  was  present.  His  memory  served  him 
admirably  in  the  lesser  veracities  of  life. 

The  drilling  of  the  amateur  actors  introduced 
into  the  pictures  took  less  time  than  Bromley  had 
expected.  The  servants  already  grasped,  their 
parts,  and  carried  tea  from  the  cottage  to  the  lawn 
with  perfect  manners.  The  lady  with  powdered 


18  WANDERING  FIEES 

hair  (slie  was  Mrs.  Butt  in  private  life,  and  Miss 
Vera  Cholmonderly  on  the  stage)  was  almost  su- 
perannuated at  the  tea-table,  so  deftly  did  James 
take  the  onus  of  the  situation  on  himself  and  teach 
her  her  proper  place  as  hostess.  Bromley  found 
that,  after  all,  Mary  was  his  most  difficult  pupil. 
She  became  suddenly  shy  and  a  victim  of  stage 
fright  when  the  moment  came  for  her  to  appear 
with  the  hero,  and  her  naturalness  deserted  her. 
Seeing  which,  be  began  to  talk  with  a  suddenness 
that  made  her  look  up  at  him  as  he  desired. 

11  That  was  a  good  set,  the  last  we  played,"  he 
said,  giving  her  no  warning  that  he  was  inventing 
the  by-play  for  the  scene.  "  Captain  Strong  and 
Miss  Slasher  very  nearly  had  us  beaten.  I  don't 
like  that  playing  up  to  the  net — but  Strong  always 
does  it.  Your  backhanders  were  splendid!  You 
are  in  much  better  practice  than  you  were  last  year. 
And  the  courts  are  much  better  since  your  father 
had  them  sown.  Don't  you  think  so?  " 

' '  We  were  not  here  last  year !  ' '  said  Mary 
blankly,  gazing  up  at  him  in  a  manner  that  he  knew 
must  be  most  effective  on  the  screen,  though  he 
was  careful  to  keep  her  well  out  of  the  foreground. 
He  was  a  tall  man,  and  broad-shouldered.  In  spite 
of  her  slim  height,  she  had  to  raise  her  head  to 
answer  his  amazing  assertions. 

"  Yes,  you  were — you  have  forgotten,  Miss 
Trefusis!  Strong  was  flirting  with  that  pretty 
widow  wTho  came  down  for  the  regatta,  and  you 
and  I  were  laying  bets  about  them.  I  can't  think 
why  he  did  not  marry  her — not  enough  money,  I 
suppose.  He  does  play  rather  high  at  bridge. 
Miss  Slasher  won't  suit  him,  anyway." 

"  But  who  is  Captain  Strong?  ' 

"  The  man  who  was  playing  against  us  just  now 
at  tennis!  " 


WANDERING  FIEES  19 

"  But  we  haven't  really  been  .  .  .  Are  you  mak- 
ing it  all  up?  ' 

' '  We  must  be  talking  to  each  other,  you  see,  as 
we  come  into  the  picture!  " 

Mary  suddenly  began  to  laugh,  and  her  face 
broke  out  of  its  wooden  fear.  "  Do  you  always  do 
that?  "  she  asked,  as  they  came  down  the  grass 
steps  of  the  terrace  together.  "  Do  you  make  up 
your  part  as  you  go  on?  ' 

1 l  Oh,  yes.  I  have  sometimes  had  to  give  an  ex- 
temporary speech  at  a  supposed  election  from  the 
balcony  of  a  supposed  hotel,  and  I  once  became 
quite  wrought  up  in  my  defence  of  a  criminal, 
though  I  did  not  know  I  was  to  be  his  counsel  five 
minutes  before." 

"  How  awfully  clever!  " 

11  It  is  only  knack,"  he  said  gently,  pausing  in 
the  middle  of  the  lawn  to  allow  the  heroine  to  make 
her  entrance. 

Eddie  Thorne  had  proved  a  far  better  actor  than 
Mary,  and  a  brilliant  success.  He  was  not  troubled 
by  self-consciousness,  and  he  immediately  grasped 
the  advantage  of  speaking  his  part  as  well  as  act- 
ing it,  and  the  opportunities  it  gave  him.  While 
Mary  was  making  her  trembling  entrance  he  had 
been  announced  at  the  tea-table  by  the  butler,  as- 
sured his  hostess  that  she  was  looking  charming, 
accepted  a  cup  of  tea  (James,  remembering  that 
it  was  not  yet  noon,  had  thoughtfully  made  it  a 
mixture  of  ginger-ale  and  sherry),  and  was  ready 
to  greet  Miss  Moon  on  her  appearance. 

"I'm  in  luck  again!  "  he  said,  with  a  pres- 
sure of  the  lady's  hand  that  nearly  took  her 
by  surprise  for  all  her  experience.  "  It  seems 
ages  since  we  met,  doesn't  it?  At  least,  it  does 
to  me !  ' ' 

"  It  is  about  half  an  hour  since  our  first  meet- 


20  WANDERING  FIEES 

ing!  "  said  the  cinema  beauty,  unable  to  resist 
laughing. 

11  And  yet  I  feel  as  if  we  were  old  friends — don't 
you?  Don't  you  know  how  you  get  to  know  some 
people  at  once,  as  if  it  were  a  mutual  attraction? 
Surely  you  have  felt  that?  " 

"  I  think  you  are  a  very  silly  person!  "  said 
Miss  Moon  with  solid  coquetry.  There  was  a  good 
deal  more  of  reality  than  suggestion  about  May, 
mentally  as  well  as  physically. 

"  No,  but  you  must  believe  in  love  at  first 
sight!" 

"  I  don't  think  I  was  ever  asked  such  a  thing  at 
such  short  notice." 

' '  Go  on !  I  expect  you  Ve  been  asked  it  by  every 
man  you've  met." 

"  I  have  certainly  never  met  any  man  like  you!  ' 

"  Haven't  you?  Is  it  a  new  experience?  Don't 
you  like  new  experiences  ?  ' 

"  That's  as  good  as  asking  me  if  I  like  you !  " 

"  I  know  it  is.    That  is  what  I  am  asking  you." 

The  give  and  take  of  the  sentences,  rapid  as  they 
were,  were  holding  up  the  action  of  the  scene.  The 
operator's  warning  voice  rang  out  the  while  he 
watched  it.  "  A  little  quicker,  Miss  Moon!  ' 

Eddie  sauntered  away  with  his  peculiar  light 
gait,  and  tried  his  luck  with  the  other  cinema  girl, 
Miss  Eobin  Ward;  but  she  would  do  nothing  but 
giggle  and  ask  him  if  he  could  jazz  on  the  close-cut 
turf,  and  he  waited  for  the  end  of  the  scene  and 
Miss  Moon's  release  from  duty  to  give  him  her 
whole  attention  again.  Mary  had  hardly  fared 
better.  A  lean  youth  in  a  summer  suit  that  did  not 
fit  him  drifted  over  to  her  neighbourhood  when 
Bromley  had  to  take  his  dramatic  moment  of  meet- 
ing the  heroine,  and  she  stood,  swinging  her 
racquet,  and  answering  his  efforts  at  conversation 


WANDERING  FIEES  21 

by  monosyllables  the  while  her  eyes  remained  fixed 
on  Bromley. 

"  It's  very  early  for  strawberries!  "  said  the 
lean  youth,  with  a  nervous  grin. 

11  Yes." 

"  I  suppose  you  grow  them  under  glass1?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  I  hope  you  don't  mind  our  wolfing  them,  they 
look  so  tempting !  ' ' 

"  Do." 

' '  Jolly  little  place  you  have  here !  Like  it  bet- 
ter than  London?  " 

"  No." 

This  scene  was  rehearsed  twice  on  account  of  the 
amateurs,  and  then  Bromley,  in  the  place  of  the 
absent  manager,  sent  his  actor's  voice  across  the 
garden  to  start  the  performers :  "  Are  you  ready? 
Go ! — Camera  ' ' — and  at  the  word  '  *  camera  ' '  the 
operator  began  to  turn  the  handle. 

It  seemed  that  the  scene  moved  automatically 
after  that,  though  a  nervous  thrill  passed  through 
Mary  at  the  relentless  sound  of  the  machine  that 
was  recording  blunders  as  well  as  the  measured 
work  of  the  cast.  Had  it  not  been  for  Bromley  she 
would  have  forgotten  even  the  trivial  part  she  had 
to  play  and  stood  petrified,  watching  the  actions 
of  everybody  else.  But  he  shepherded  her  safely 
through  the  opening  of  the  scene,  and  when  he 
left  her  she  was  so  placed  that  she  could  follow  his 
movements  with  a  curious  awe  of  his  very  real 
talent.  He  made  the  stereotyped  situation  some- 
thing that  might  be  real  and  was  almost  tragic, 
up  to  the  end  of  the  scene  where  May  Moon  denied 
all  knowledge  of  him  with  a  manner  that  was  too 
melodramatic  to  carry  conviction  but  might  be 
effective  with  a  cinema  audience. 

Then  the  deadly  purring  of  the  camera  ceased, 


22  WANDERING  FIEES 

and  everyone  began  to  sort  themselves  as  inclina- 
tion or  shyness  prompted.  Mary  left  the  lean 
youth  and  went  back  to  Bromley  as  naturally  as 
Eddie  Thome  found  himself  in  Miss  Moon's 
neighbourhood. 

' '  I  want  you  all  to  have  some  lunch  before  you 
leave,"  Mary  said  to  the  lead.  "  You  have  been 
working  so  hard  in  the  heat.  Do  let  us  give  you 
sandwiches  and  fruit,  anyway!  " 

He  turned  with  that  quick  charm  of  manner  that 
never  seemed  quite  British.  "  It  is  most  kind  of 
you — most  kind!  "  he  said.  "  But  I  don't  think 
we  ought  to  trespass.  We  can  get  some  food  at  the 
hotel  near  the  station,  and  we  must  catch  an  early 
train  back  to  London." 

"  Do  you  mean  that  you  came  down  this  morn- 
ing in  this  hot  weather,  and  are  going  up  again 
this  afternoon  before  it  gets  cool!  "  Her  large 
eyes  rested  on  him  with  the  amazement  of  the 
leisured  class.  "  Oh,  you  must  certainly  have 
some  lunch  first !  I'll  tell  James." 

Bromley's  eyes  followed  her  over  the  grass  with 
the  kindly  indulgence  he  would  certainly  have 
shown  to  a  child.  Mary  had  the  figure  of  the  mod- 
ern girl,  which  is  as  sexless  as  a  sapling,  and  has 
neither  angles  nor  curves.  She  boasted  that  she 
could  wear  her  gowns  hindside  before  if  it  suited 
her.  She  was  not  really  above  middle  height,  but 
her  extreme  slimness  made  her  look  tall. 

After  a  few  minutes  she  came  back  to  tell  her 
self-invited  guests  that  lunch  would  be  ready  in  ten 
minutes  in  the  dining-room,  and  to  beg  them  to 
help  themselves  to  the  fruit  that  had  done  duty  in 
the  pictures.  She  flung  the  fruit  to  the  rest  of  the 
cast  as  one  flings  corn  to  chickens  to  draw  them 
together,  because  she  wanted  Bromley  to  herself. 
"Come  and  look  at  the  gardens  while  the  servants 


WANDERING  FIRES  23 

are  getting  lunch,"  she  said.  "  Perhaps  they 
might  do  for  another  picture  another  time." 

"  Supposing  that  Captain  Trefusis  raised  an 
objection?  " 

"  Oh,  I  shouldn't  ask  him!  "  she  said  calmly. 
"  I  always  do  a  thing  first  and  ask  afterwards 
with  father.  Well,  anyhow,  I  say  I  suppose  he 
won't  mind — when  it's  done.  Then  if  he  does 
mind  I  have  to  stand  the  racket.  But  it's  quite  the 
best  way." 

She  was  leading  him  along  the  terrace  between 
herbaceous  borders  that  were  already  a  mass  of 
colour,  for  the  season  was  early.  Her  candid  eyes 
looked  up  into  the  actor's  face  without  the  least 
idea  that  she  was  ruthless  in  her  determination  to 
get  her  own  way  in  life  by  any  method  that  suc- 
ceeded. Bromley  had  a  way  of  wrinkling  up  his 
face  when  he  laughed  that  she  liked.  He  was  doing 
it  now.  She  thought  about  the  wrinkles,  and  not  of 
her  own  indifference  to  parental  authority. 

11  Do  you  mind  telling  me — if  it  is  not  an  im- 
pertinence— how  old  you  are?  "  he  said. 

* '  I  am  twenty-one.  But  I  don 't  think  that  mat- 
ters much.  I  have  always  been  the  same  age.  My 
mother  died  before  I  was  a  year  old,  so  I  have 
taken  charge  of  myself  from  the  first. ' ' 

* l  Won 't  }7ou  find  it  rather  hard  to  change  when 
somebody  else  takes  charge  of  you  I ' ' 

"  Nobody  ever  will,"  said  Mary,  with  the  cer- 
tainty of  colossal  ignorance.  ' '  Look !  you  can  see 
the  Castle  from  here,  across  the  river.  But  I  want 
to  show  you  the  view  from  the  Wilderness. ' ' 

He  uttered  an  exclamation  of  delight  that  was 
too  genuine  for  the  average  Englishman. 
Through  splashes  of  crimson  may  and  golden  la- 
burnum he  could  see  the  dappled  river,  as  bright 
as  a  snake's  skin  with  spots  of  sun  and  shadow, 


24  WANDERING  FIRES 

and  "Windsor  in  a  haze  of  heat  that  made  it  a  pal- 
ace of  romance.  The  gardens  tumbled  about  their 
feet,  blue  with  forget-me-nots  and  pink  with  tulips, 
and  Jefferson  Bromley  suddenly  realised  how 
much  pleasure  rich  men  may  fence  in  for  their  own 
satisfaction. 

"  I  love  colour!  "  he  said  involuntarily. 

"  Are  you  quite  English?  "  asked  Mary  in  her 
direct  fashion.  "  You  seem  to  me  so  much  more 
aware  of  the  things  round  you  than  English  people 
are. ' ' 

"  Are  not  English  people  observant?  " 

"  Very — but  they  don't  see!  ' 

"  Well,  I  had  a  French  grandmother.  But  I  am 
English  to  the  backbone."  He  spoke  a  little 
restively. 

"  If  you  were,  you  wouldn't  resent  what  I  said 
so  keenly,"  said  Mary  shrewdly.  "  I  wonder  if 
your  French  blood  helps  you  to  act!  I  think  you 
are  most  wonderful  in  those  pictures — you  seem  to 
explain  things  with  your  hands." 

"  That  is  only  training.  One  uses  more  gesture 
for  the  screen  than  the  stage. ' ' 

"  The  others  didn't  use  gestures  like  yours. 
They  only  went  into  attitudes  and  jerked  their 
limbs  about.  I  couldn't  help  watching  you.  I 
seemed  to  know  exactly  what  you  were  feeling  and 
thinking. ' ' 

Her  frank  flattery  was  irresistible  in  spite  of  a 
critical  judgment  that  made  him  rather  imper- 
vious. He  followed  her  through  an  archway  in  an 
old  wall,  and  on  to  a  piece  of  wild  land,  feeling 
the  sunshine  warm  all  over  him,  and  unsuspecting 
that  not  a  little  had  been  contributed  by  Mary 
Trefusis  and  her  appreciation  of  his  work. 

The  Wilderness  was  given  over  to  any  growth 
that  pleased  Nature,  down  to  the  lip  of  the  river. 


25 

Mary  was  for  pushing  her  way  through  the  bram- 
bles that  Thorne  had  warned  her  earlier  were  bad 
for  silk  stockings,  but  Bromley  put  his  hand  on 
her  arm  and  checked  her  gently.  The  touch  was 
as  light  and  impersonal  as  that  with  which  he 
might  have  picked  a  flower. 

"  Please  let  me  go  first  and  make  a  path  for 
you, ' '  he  said,  and  lifted  the  long  trails  out  of  her 
way,  and  trod  down  the  nettles,  so  that  she  could 
walk  at  ease. 

* '  You  make  the  road  very  smooth  for  me !  "  she 
said  with  a  little  wonder. 

"  That  is  a  man's  business,  when  there  is  a  lady 
in  the  case!  "  he  returned. 

She  looked  up  at  him  for  a  moment  curiously, 
and  her  lips  parted  as  if  she  would  speak.  But 
she  closed  them  again,  and  only  directed  his  atten- 
tion to  the  view  with  a  gesture.  There  was  more 
of  the  river  here,  and  less  of  the  vegetation  on  its 
banks,  so  that  they  saw  the  whole  sunny  breast 
of  it  bared  to  the  blue  sky  and  decked  with  sun- 
jewels.  What  a  broad  flash  it  looked  against  the 
distant  green,  and  how  it  filled  and  flooded  the 
picture !  Mary  stood  in  silence  for  a  minute  as  if 
something  in  its  irresistible  tide  and  movement 
appealed  to  her.  Then  she  raised  her  eyes  again 
and  looked  at  Bromley  deliberately.  He  was  taller 
than  Thorne,  a  different  build,  with  more  weight 
and  less  suppleness.  He  would  never  grow  stout 
any  more  than  Eddie,  but  he  would  thicken.  She 
had  never  cared  for  heavy-weights,  but  something 
in  his  flat  back  and  square  shoulders  gave  her  a 
sense  of  protection  that  she  had  never  felt  in  any 
man.  His  face  was  rather  strongly  marked,  and 
being  clean-shaven  for  his  profession  the  lines 
round  the  mouth  showed  the  more.  She  judged 
him  to  be  about  six-and-thirty,  but  as  a  matter  of 


26  WANDERING  FIRES 

fact  lie  was  less.  There  was  a  deep  ripple  in  his 
hair  despite  it  being  closely  cut,  and  his  eyes  were 
very  kind — she  did  not  notice  their  colour.  He 
seemed  to  her  an  unusual  type  of  man  to  have 
walked  into  her  life  this  June  morning,  and  he  in- 
terested her. 

"  Do  tell  me  about  your  life,  Mr.  Bromley," 
she  said  suddenly.  *  *  I  think  it  must  be  so  delight- 
ful." 

"  It  was  delightful  to-day,  because  you  have 
been  so  good  to  us.  But  we  do  not  always  work 
under  such  heavenly  conditions!  '  He  looked 
round  him  with  intense  enjoyment.  "  "We  take 
pictures  in  the  winter  as  well  as  summer,  you 
know,  and  we  spend  hours  in  the  studio,  which  is 
either  very  hot  or  very  cold. ' ' 

"  Where  is  your  studio?  " 

"  It  is  down  at  Roehampton.  I  daresay  you 
know  the  Club?  Well,  not  far  from  that."  ' 

"  And  what  is  the  company  called?  " 

*  *  The  Block  Film  Company.  It  is  a  syndicate  in 
reality,  but  William  Block  started  it,  and  he  is  still 
our  general  manager." 

' '  It  must  be  a  very  exciting  life !  Do  you  really 
do  all  those  things  like  falling  down  precipices  and 
escaping  through  tunnels?  ' 

"  Sometimes — if  we  are  working  that  kind  of 
picture.  It  is  a  very  strenuous  life — when,  for 
instance,  you  are  holding  on  to  the  side  of  a  wreck, 
waiting  for  the  boat  to  rescue  you,  or  climbing  up 
the  side  of  a  balloon !  We  none  of  us  like  that  kind 
of  thing." 

"  But  it  can't  be  monotonous.  It  must  be  con- 
stant change! ' 

A  devil  of  dissatisfaction  crept  into  her  clear 
eyes,  and  made  their  glance  round  her  a  darkened 
thing.  She  turned  away  from  the  flood  of  sunlit 


WANDERING  FIRES  27 

water,  and  they  went  back  to  the  terraced  gardens 
and  the  cottage,  almost  in  silence.  Here  they 
found  the  company  assembled,  and  ready  for  the 
cold  luncheon  that  James  had  provided  in  a 
fashion  that  was  little  short  of  miraculous.  But 
though  he  could  not  have  expected  seven  or  eight 
extra  to  lunch,  painful  experience  of  his  master 
and  Miss  Mary  had  trained  him  to  keep  supplies  al- 
ways in  reserve.  It  was  very  difficult  to  strain 
the  hospitality  of  Restawhile  to  the  breaking-point 
under  James'  jurisdiction.  The  resources  of  Cap- 
tain Tref usis '  income  would  go  first. 

Thome  was  quite  in  his  element,  looking  after 
everyone's  wants  and  joking  the  company  out  of 
their  shyness,  though  he  contrived  to  keep  up  the 
flirtation  with  May  Moon  at  the  same  time.  While 
Mary  was  in  the  Wilderness  with  Bromley  he  had 
spent  the  time  profitably  in  showing  Miss  Moon 
other  portions  of  the  grounds,  their  way  seeming 
always  to  veer  to  the  darkest  of  shrubberies  and 
arboured  nooks.  There  was  the  atmosphere  of 
success  about  Mr.  Thorne  in  his  wrhite  flannels,  as 
of  one  who  has  not  asked  in  vain;  but  Mary  was 
rather  silent,  and  the  lurking  discontent  in  her 
eyes  seemed  to  focus  when  they  rested  on  Bromley. 
The  company  were  all  going  away  in  a  few 
minutes,  taking  with  them  the  life  and  stir  they 
had  brought  and  the  glimpse  of  something  fasci- 
nating because  so  novel :  and  leaving  her  with  the 
small  resources  of  the  existence  that  she  knew, 
which  were  apt  to  weary  her  however  much  she 
defied  law  and  order.  She  was  like  a  child  trying 
to  make  a  tempest  in  a  duck-pond,  while  all  the 
wide  seas  lay  outside  her  horizon  with  real  storms 
and  dangers  to  prick  the  blood. 

The  self -constituted  host  and  hostess  saw  their 
guests  down  to  the  landing-stage  and  into  the 


28  WANDERING  FIRES 

boat,  and  stood  at  the  landing-steps  calling  out  to 
them  and  waving  farewell.  Eddie's  last  glances 
were  for  Miss  Moon,  whose  cream-painted  face  was 
almost  conscious  under  his  practised  eyes.  Brom- 
ley had  turned  at  the  last  step  to  shake  hands  with 
Mary  once  more  and  thank  her  in  that  peculiar 
resonant  voice. 

"  I  wonder  if  we  shall  meet  again — I  want  to 
see  you  again!  "  she  said  on  impulse  as  his  hand 
clasped  hers.  There  was  not  the  least  pressure  of 
her  fingers,  nothing  beyond  the  strong  grip  of  a 
clean  man  who  felt  and  wished  to  show  friendship. 

*  *  I  should  be  charmed — delighted, ' '  he  said  hon- 
estly. "Perhaps  if  you  were  in  London  .  .  ." 

"  "Would  a  letter  to  the  studio  find  you?  " 

* l  Always — or  the  Green  Room  Club. ' ' 

"I'll  write,"  said  Mary,  as  he  released  her 
hand.  * '  I  must  know  when  the  picture  is  going  to 
be  shown.  ..." 

Then  he  was  in  the  boat,  and  there  was  some 
laughter  and  false  alarm  at  getting  her  out  in  mid- 
stream, and  then  the  whole  brief  incident  seemed 
to  be  vanishing  round  a  bend  of  the  river,  as 
quickly  as  one  of  the  pictures  that  come  and  go  on 
the  screen.  It  had  been  curiously  reminiscent  of  a 
cinema  show  throughout,  even  without  the  actual 
rehearsal  and  taking  of  the  photographs. 

Mary  and  Thome  stood  side  by  side  for  a  minute 
while  the  boat  vanished,  as  if  their  thoughts  went 
with  it — very  different  thoughts,  as  they  were  dif- 
ferent people.  But  as  by  a  mutual  impulse,  they 
turned  to  each  other  again  when  they  were  alone, 
and  laughed. 

"  How  amusing!  "  said  Mary. 

The  shadow  passed  from  her  face,  and  she 
opened  her  big  eyes  as  if  she  had  awakened  from 
some  curious  dream.  "  I  liked  that  man — I  think 


WANDERING  FIRES  29 

I  shall  always  like  him.  Did  you  make  the  running 
with  the  girl,  Eddie?  What  was  she  like?  She 
seemed  to  me  a  little  common  compared  to  Mr. 
Bromley. ' ' 

"  I  daresay,"  said  Thome  carelessly,  and  he 
did  not  trouble  to  explain  that  this  had  been  no 
disadvantage  to  a  passing  entertainment  from  a 
masculine  point  of  view.  One  essential  difference 
between  men  and  women  lies  in  their  values  of 
life. 

"  Well,  anyhow,  they  are  gone  now,"  said 
Mary,  looking  round  at  the  deserted  lawns  and 
empty  gardens,  so  stirred  with  movement  all  the 
morning. 

"  And  now  we  must  amuse  each  other  again," 
said  Eddie  Thome. 

He  slipped  his  arm  into  hers  and  drew  it  close 
against  him,  and  so  they  returned  to  the  cottage. 


CHAPTER  H 

CAPTAIN  TREFUSIS  had  been  known  as 
"  Poker  Trefusis  "  in  his  regiment,  owing 
to  his  devotion  to  the  game.  He  could  pre- 
serve an  equal  innocence  of  face  over  a  straight 
flush  or  a  pair  of  twos,  and  it  made  him  a  terror 
to  more  nervous  players.  Not  an  eyelid  betrayed 
him  when  he  bluffed,  and  his  ingenuous  uplook  had 
frequently  led  an  adversary  into  giving  his  own 
hand  away  by  some  self -consciousness.  He  played 
poker  all  through  his  life,  not  only  in  the  game 
but  with  events,  and  only  when  he  laid  his  cards 
upon  the  table  did  the  astonished  spectators  realise 
how  completely  he  had  kept  his  own  counsel  and 
out-mano3uvred  them. 

Mary  was  rather  fond  of  her  father  because  he 
did  not  interfere  with  her.  Her  mother  had  died 
before  she  was  a  year  old,  as  she  had  told  Brom- 
ley, and  a  succession  of  nurses  had  brought  her  up 
in  addition  to  some  muddling  by  female  relatives. 
The  opposing  power  in  her  life  had  been  her  moth- 
er's  elder  sister,  Lady  Alexandra  Ratrick;  but 
Lady  Alex  was  a  personality  and  an  influence 
throughout  her  world.  She  had  married  Admiral 
Ratrick  as  a  girl,  and  had  no  children,  but  almost 
before  she  was  a  woman  she  had  begun  to  domi- 
nate the  hard-headed  Yorkshire  family  from  which 
her  husband  came.  Perhaps  it  was  because  she 
had  been  as  headstrong  as  Mary  that  she  under- 
stood her.  Certainly  they  had  quarrelled,  and 

30 


WANDERING  FIRES  31 

been  reconciled,  and  struggled  for  supremacy  of 
will  from  the  time  that  Mary  was  five;  and  the 
issue  was  not  decided  yet. 

Mary  admired  her  aunt  as  the  most  beautiful 
person  she  had  ever  seen,  and  stood  in  some  awe 
of  her  terrible  common  sense,  if  she  stood  in  awe 
of  anything.  Lady  Alex  was  a  slight  woman  with 
perfect  hands  and  feet  and  small  flat  ears — all  the 
signs  of  breeding  from  many  generations.  Her 
hair  had  turned  silvery-white  by  the  time  she  was 
thirty  owing  to  a  fever,  and  her  young  sparkling 
face  was  the  more  remarkable  by  contrast.  She 
had  curious  eyes,  green  and  blue  by  turn,  that  had 
no  depth  in  them,  but  quick,  cold  expression.  If 
man  or  woman  once  saw  those  eyes  melt  they  were 
ever  after  Alex  Ratrick's  slaves.  But  the  experi- 
ence was  given  to  few.  Lady  Alex  had  been 
abroad  for  the  past  month  or  so  in  India,  where 
her  husband's  relations  held  high  official  positions. 
It  was  possibly  due  to  this  that  her  niece  had 
made  the  acquaintance  of  Thorne,  since  vigilance 
was  apt  to  relax  in  Lady  Alex's  absence.  The  life 
of  the  family,  with  Mary  as  a  member,  was  apt  to 
resolve  itself  into  a  ceaseless  effort  to  prevent  her 
doing  unconscionable  things,  and  there  was  little 
rest  or  confidence  for  anybody  who  was  in  tem- 
porary charge. 

Captain  Trefusis'  "  few  days  "  lengthened 
themselves  into  a  week,  and  threatened  to  be  a 
fortnight  before  he  returned  to  Restawhile.  He 
said  he  had  got  a  cold,  and  Mary  added  a  rider 
to  herself  that  he  had  certainly  got  an  agreeable 
party.  At  the  end  of  the  fortnight  Thorne  went  to 
London,  impelled  thereto  by  a  regimental  dinner 
of  his  recent  corps. 

"  Why  don't  you  run  up  to  town  for  a  few  days, 
Molly?  "  he  said.  "  Come  on!  Bring  your  maid 


32 

and  stay  somewhere  respectable.     I'll  take  you 
about  to  make  things  even!  " 

"  Father  may  come  back  any  day,"  said  Mary 
discontentedly.  But  the  suggestion  pleased  her. 
She  began  to  think  about  it — always  the  short  cut 
to  action  in  Mary's  mind — and  when  her  father's 
return  receded  into  distance  she  told  Berkeley  that 
they  were  going  up  to  London  for  the  inside  of  a 
week  and  she  should  want  a  few  clothes  packed. 
Berkeley,  with  an  inverted  mouth,  raised  the  ob- 
jections that  had  never  deterred  her  mistress. 

"It  is  very  difficult  to  get  rooms  just  now, 
miss!  " 

"  I've  wired,"  said  Mary  briefly. 

"  "Will  you  give  James  orders — in  case  the  Cap- 
tain returns?  " 

"  He  won't  return — he's  struck  ile!  " 

Berkeley  passed  the  vulgarity  with  patience. 
'  *  I  suppose  James  knows  what  you  would  wish  in 
your  absence,  miss?  " 

"  Good  Lord,  Berkeley,  as  if  James  were  not 
runnin'  the  house  now!  What  have  I  got  to  do 
with  it?  It  doesn't  matter  whether  I  am  here  or 
no." 

Mary  had  wired  to  Brown's  Hotel  because  her 
family  usually  stayed  there  on  flying  visits  to  Lon- 
don. It  was  an  unconscious  convention  that  she 
would  not  have  followed  if  it  had  been  pointed  out 
to  her ;  but  as  a  matter  of  fact  it  secured  her  the 
rooms,  because  Lady  Alex  Ratrick's  was  a  name 
to  conjure  with,  and  Miss  Trefusis  had  stayed  at 
the  hotel  with  her  aunt  and  was  known  in  con- 
junction with  her.  Having  got  her  rooms,  Mary 
departed  without  a  scruple  in  leaving  Restawhile 
to  James,  and  fully  enjoying  the  fact  that  even 
her  father  would  disapprove  of  her  action — when 
it  was  too  late. 


WANDERING  FIRES  33 

Paddington  was  cabless.  Every  vehicle  that 
came  into  the  station  had  a  porter  hanging  on  the 
step  already,  or  was  seized  by  a  more  active  male 
than  the  two  female  travellers  before  it  reached 
the  curb.  Berkeley  toiled  up  into  Praed  Street 
as  far  as  the  Great  Western  Hotel  entrance,  and 
Mary  appealed  to  officials  in  vain.  At  last  it  was 
her  own  native  resource  that  secured  her  a  taxi,  for 
seeing  it  arrive  with  passengers  she  ran  like  a 
deer  beside  it,  her  hand  upon  the  door.  Then,  as 
it  drew  up,  she  was  aware  of  a  man  in  khaki  who 
had  run  also,  but  failed  to  reach  it  as  she  had. 

"  My  cab!  "  she  said  breathlessly. 

'  *  Yes, ' '  he  responded,  a  little  grudgingly. 

"  I've  been  waiting  twenty  minutes,"  she  flung 
at  him  over  her  shoulder,  as  consolation. 

"  I've  been  waiting  half  an  hour!  "  said  the  of- 
ficer grimly. 

Mary  looked  at  him  while  the  present  occupants 
of  the  cab  were  unloaded  and  the  driver  took  his 
fare,  seeming  still  half  undecided  as  to  whether 
he  would  allow  anyone  to  re-engage  him  after 
all. 

1 1  "Where  do  you  want  to  go  f  "  he  said  to  Mary. 

"  Brown's  Hotel,  Albemarle  Street." 

"All  right!  " 

"  Can't  you  come  too?  "  said  Mary  suddenly, 
turning  to  the  man  she  had  displaced.  He  had 
aquiline  features  and  dark  hair,  and  was  rather 
personable.  His  eyes  were  a  curious  light  blue, 
which  looked  lighter  by  contrast  to  a  tanned  skin, 
and  they  lit  up  pleasantly  at  her  suggestion. 

"  Would  you  mind!  " 

"  Not  a  bit — it's  only  me  and  my  maid.  Where 
do  you  want  to  go  ?  " 

11  If  you  would  drop  me  at  the  Cavalry 
Club  .  ." 


34  WANDERING  FIEES 

"  Yes,  of  course.  I'm  very  glad  to  do  it.  Get 
in,  Berkeley." 

The  presence  of  Berkeley  might  advantageously 
have  been  dispensed  with,  save  that  it  proved  ab- 
solutely no  check  to  Mary's  flow  of  conversation. 
She  chatted  to  her  good-looking  companion  as  if 
the  maid  were  not  sitting  beside  her  in  silent  pro- 
test, until  he  forgot  to  guard  his  strange  light 
eyes  and  looked  a  little  more  than  he  had  dared 
to  say. 

1 '  If  I  had  had  to  wait  any  longer  I  should  have 
sworn  like  a  W.A.A.C. !  "  said  Mary. 

"  I  had  done  that  already." 

"  Poor  devil!  I  don't  blame  you.  How  long 
had  you  waited  ?  Half  an  hour  I  Isn  't  it  damnable 
that  they  don 't  put  on  more  cabs  I  ' ' 

"  It  wouldn't  matter  if  everyone  were  as  kind 
as  you !  ' ' 

"  I  think  the  war  has  made  us  all  more  neigh- 
bourly, don't  you?  It  seems  to  have  knocked  the 
conventions  down." 

(In  Berkeley's  experience  Miss  Trefusis  had 
been  knocking  the  conventions  down  ever  since  she 
was  seven ;  and  it  was  her  laborious  duty  to  build 
them  up  again  in  futile  fortifications.  She  looked 
out  of  the  window,  and  wished  that  Hyde  Park 
Lane  were  shorter.) 

"  Do  you  really  Think  that  people  are  less  con- 
ventional? I  met  a  woman  the  other  day  who  told 
me  that  she  had  given  up  going  to  church  because 
she  thought  it  so  silly  to  be  tied  by  convention; 
*  and,'  she  added,  '  nobody  does  it  now  '!  M 

Mary  looked  a  little  taken  aback.  "  I  suppose 
it  is  only  a  conventional  liberty  after  all,"  she 
said. 

'  *  People  are  very  seldom  individual  revolution- 


WANDERING  FIRES  35 

aries.  When  a  crowd  begins  shouting  '  Liberty !  ' 
we  fancy  that  we  are  liberated,  that  is  all. ' ' 

11  But  surely  everyone  mixes  together  more 
freely,  anyhow.  I  met  heaps  of  people  I  should 
never  have  known  if  it  hadn't  been  for  war- work, 
and  I  have  kept  it  up — I  still  know  them. ' '  (Mary 
had  been  for  three  months  in  munitions  before  she 
broke  down.  And  she  had  certainly  kept  in  touch 
with  the  most  incongruous  amongst  her  fellow- 
workers  as  long  as  their  novelty  startled  her  into 
remembrance.) 

"  Would  you  have  mixed  with  them  if  '  every- 
one '  had  not  done  it  ?  " 

'  *  I  owe  something  to  the  age  I  live  in,  I  suppose 
you  mean?  " 

*  *  Ah !  that  I  couldn't  say.  You  might  have  been 
greatly  daring,  anyhow !  ' '  He  looked  at  the  chal- 
lenging beauty  of  her  face,  and  hesitated.  "  We 
are  all  rebels  when  we  are  young, ' '  he  said. 

Berkeley  gave  a  sigh  of  relief.  The  cab  had 
turned  into  Piccadilly.  She  knew,  far  better  than 
the  officer,  that  to  tell  Miss  Mary  that  she  was  not 
doing  anything  out  of  the  common  after  all  was 
to  spur  her  to  fresh  effort.  Mary  was  silent  too, 
and  her  large  eyes  brooded  mischief. 

The  cab  stopped  at  127,  Piccadilly.  "  I  can't 
thank  you  enough,"  said  the  officer  simply,  as  he 
saluted  at  the  cab  door.  "  I  hope  our  luggage 
has  not  got  hopelessly  mixed,  but  if  you  miss  any- 
thing you  can  send  the  police  for  me." 

"  I  can't — I  don't  know  your  name?"  said 
Mary  quietly.  It  was  her  eyes  which  asked  the 
question. 

"  Durham."  His  tone  was  a  little  quickened, 
that  was  all.  He  had  been  prepared  to  close  the 
incident  with  the  cab  door,  as  a  gentleman.  If  she 


36  WANDERING  FIRES 

left  the  door  open  he  could  not  forbear  looking  in. 

Mary  nodded,  leaned  back  in  her  seat,  and  said, 
"  Please  tell  him  to  go  to  Brown's  Hotel."  She 
did  not  tell  him  her  own  name.  It  was  on  all  her 
luggage,  and  if  he  could  not  contrive  to  discover 
it  while  reclaiming  his  own — well,  he  was  a  fool. 
She  had  no  use  for  fools. 

Brown's  Hotel  was  an  oasis  in  the  drab  sandi- 
ness  of  Albemarle  Street.  It  had  beer  newly 
painted  white,  and  its  ivy-leafed  geraniums 
drooped  pink  clusters  of  bloom  all  along  the  bal- 
conies. In  spite  of  a  dull,  cold  day  Mary's  spirits 
were  at  bubbling  point  with  the  recent  adventure, 
the  sense  of  being  in  the  midst  of  life,  the  change 
of  scene — above  all,  the  change.  She  came  in 
under  the  portico  radiant  and  glistening  with  life, 
though  her  face  was  unsmiling.  Mary  did  not  need 
to  smile  in  order  to  radiate.  The  porter  took  pos- 
session of  umbrellas  and  travelling  gear,  and  the 
new  arrivals  were  handed  on  to  their  rooms  with 
a  small  sense  of  fuss  and  deference  even  in  the 
decorous  hotel  that  pleased  the  unconscious  egoist 
in  the  girl.  She  ordered  tea  in  her  own  room  with- 
out a  thought  of  giving  extra  trouble  any  more 
than  expense,  because  it  was  more  comfortable 
than  going  down  to  the  lounge,  and  then  bethought 
her  of  the  telephone  which  was  ready  to  her 
hand. 

"  I  want  the  Alexander  Hotel,"  she  said,  and 
having  got  it  demanded  Eddie  Thome.  She  knew 
he  stayed  there  for  exactly  the  same  reason  that 
she  stayed  at  Brown's,  because  it  was  a  tradition 
with  his  people,  though  he  would  have  been  more 
comfortable  at  his  Club,  where  he  was  less  liable 
to  the  embarrassment  of  meeting  stray  members 
of  his  family. 

Mr.  Thome  was  out,  and  Mary's  straight  brows 


WANDERING  FIRES  37 

came  together  like  the  meeting  of  two  thunder- 
clouds. 

' '  Tell  him  Miss  Trefusis  rang  up,  please — Miss 
Trefusis — and  wants  him  to  come  to  dinner  at 
Brown's  Hotel  at  eight  o'clock." 

It  was  very  tiresome  of  Eddie  to  be  out ;  it  made 
the  first  check  in  her  successful  day.  If  he  couldn't 
come  she  might  just  as  well  have  asked — someone 
else.  Should  she  ring  up  the  Block  Studio  and  see 
if  Mr.  Bromley  were  available?  Or  the  Cavalry 
Club  f  Her  most  recent  acquaintances  were  always 
uppermost  in  her  mind.  As  she  left  her  room  at 
last  and  ran  down  to  the  lounge,  to  await  a  reply 
from  Thorne,  she  met  a  lady  just  coming  in  from 
the  street,  who  stopped  and  looked  at  her  and 
looked  closer  as  if  slow  to  be  convinced. 

* '  My  dear  Mary,  where  on  earth  did  you  spring 
from?  ' 

"  I've  come  up  from  Restawhile  for  a  few 
days,"  said  Mary,  laughing,  her  good-humour  re- 
stored on  the  instant.  *  *  Father  is  away — playing 
poker  with  some  men  at  Esher  who  are  racing  at 
Sandown.  He  says  he  has  a  cold  because  he 
doesn't  want  to  come  home.  Why  do  parents 
never  tell  the  truth !  I  was  so  deadly  dull  on  the 
river  that  I  decided  to  run  up  to  town  and  see  a 
few  things." 

"  Is  anyone  with  you?  " 

"  Oh,  I've  got  Berkeley,"  said  Mary  carelessly. 
But  it  drifted  through  her  mind  that  it  was  good 
luck  coming  across  Mrs.  Claud  Carpenter,  be- 
cause she  could  always  give  the  impression  that 
she  had  come  up  to  stay  with  her  rather  than 
met  her  by  chance ;  and  though  she  did  not  bother 
herself  with  trouble  before  it  came,  a  heated  dis- 
cussion with  her  family  over  her  right  of  action 
was  always  to  be  avoided. 


38  WANDERING  FIRES 

"  Claud  and  I  are  staying  here  till  Tuesday, " 
said  Mrs.  Carpenter.  "  We  are  dining  out  to- 
night, unfortunately,  but  you  had  better  sit  at  our 
table." 

"  I  believe  I've  got  a  man  coming  to-night,  so 
that  is  all  right.  Thanks  all  the  same,  Clare. ' ' 

"  What  man?  I  do  hope  it  isn't  one  of  those 
munition  people  you  knew  last  year!  " 

"  They  have  rather  gone  out  of  my  life,  some- 
how. I  didn't  mean  them  to,  but  somehow  it 
happened.  They  were  awfully  good  sorts,  really. 
Do  you  remember  Sam  Roby  coming  down  to 
Henley  in  a  high  hat,  and  my  taking  him  on  the 
river  as  if  it  were  the  Serpentine?  ' 

"  I  do !  "  said  Mrs.  Carpenter  grimly.  "  I  also 
remember  what  Lady  Alex  said.  I'm  thankful 
they  have  gone  back  to  their  own  sphere  and  left 
you  to  yours.  It's  no  use,  Mary;  the  war  isn't 
going  to  make  any  social  difference  really,  though 
girls  like  you  grasped  the  opportunity  to  talk 
about  freedom  and  make  it  a  fashion  to  know 
your  inferiors.  You  would  never  have  done  it  if 
all  your  friends  had  not. ' ' 

Mary  laughed  again.  "  How  odd!  "  she  said. 
' '  Someone  else  said  that  to  me  not  an  hour  ago. ' ' 

"  Someone  else?  ' 

"  A  man  I  picked  up  at  Paddington,  and  brought 
as  far  as  the  Cavalry  Club.  He  couldn't  get  a 
cab." 

11  Is  this  the  creature  who  is  coming  to  dinner?  " 

"  I  haven't  asked  him,  anyhow — yet.  I  may,  if 
I  am  lonely !  ' 

"  Who  have  you  asked  to  dinner?  " 

"  Mr.  Thorne." 

"  What  Thorne?  One  of  the  Thornes  of  Up- 
cott?  Not  Eddie  Thorne,  surely?  " 

"  Yes." 


WANDERING  FIEES  39 

"  How  did  you  get  to  know  him?  ' 

' (  Met  him  at  Blanche 's.    We  are  great  pals. ' ' 

1 f  In  this  minute !  I  know  you  had  not  met  him 
last  month." 

"  Some  people  take  years  to  know,  and  you 
don't  know  them  then — because  you  don't  want  to. 
I  knew  Eddie  in  a  week." 

"  I  hope  you  know  all  about  him  as  well.  He 
really  is  married,  to  that  girl  in  the  Russian  Ballet, 
I  believe.  Of  course  it  is  not  openly  acknowledged, 
but  he  is. ' ' 

"  I  daresay.  What  does  it  matter?  I  don't 
want  to  marry  him,  myself. ' '  As  she  spoke  it  oc- 
curred to  her  for  the  first  time  to  wonder  if  she 
ever  would  have  done  so — a  passing  wonder  that 
had  really  never  struck  her  before.  Mary  an- 
nexed men  much  as  she  bought  sweets — a  reason- 
able perquisite  of  her  youth,  and  quite  delightful 
for  the  time  being.  They  had  gained  no  perma- 
nent hold  on  her  life  as  yet.  She  would  as  soon 
have  thought  of  her  afternoon's  acquaintance  as 
a  husband,  or  of  Jefferson  Bromley,  as  of  Eddie 
Thome. 

"  I  hope  he  won't  come,"  said  Mrs.  Carpenter 
frankly.  "  Why  can't  you  put  him  off,  and  have 
him  to-morrow  night,  when  we  shall  be  here?  You 
need  not  even  dine  at  our  table  if  you  are  keen  on 
being  conspicuous,  but  do  for  decency's  sake  bring 
him  to  us  in  the  lounge  for  half  an  hour,  so  that  we 
can  say  we  were  all  together!  " 

Mary  showed  two  rows  of  even  little  teeth  in  a 
fresh  spasm  of  laughter.  "  I  daresay  he  can't 
come,"  she  said  consolingly.  "  I  only  gave  him 
four  hours'  notice.  A  man  is  generally  pretty 
badly  engaged  if  he  is  up  in  town  for  a  few 
days. ' ' 

"  Yes,  he  is  likely  to  bo  badly  engaged!  "  agreed 


40  WANDERING  FIRES 

Mrs.  Carpenter  unkindly.  "  What  are  you  going 
to  do  now?  " 

"I'm  coming  up  to  your  room  to  talk,  unless 
you  don't  want  me." 

"  Come  by  all  means — but  you  must  expect 
Claud  to  tumble  in  and  out.  His  dressing-room  is 
too  small  for  him,  and  most  of  his  essentials  are 
in  my  room." 

' '  I  think  there  ought  to  be  a  close  time  for  wives 
as  well  as  for  birds,  when  husbands  know  they 
must  be  undisturbed.  It  must  be  an  awful  nui- 
sance to  have  a  man  as  intimate  as  your  maid. ' ' 

"  Mary,  oblige  me  by  not  saying  that  to  a  man. 
It  is  perfectly  true,  but  liable  to  misconception." 

They  went  upstairs  arm-in-arm,  laughing,  and 
when  Mrs.  Carpenter  wanted  to  dress  Mary  re- 
luctantly departed  to  her  own  room,  rang  for  hot 
water  and  Berkeley,  and  had  her  hair  done.  She 
came  down  to  the  coffee-room  a  little  before  eight 
in  a  short-waisted  white  gown  that  made  her  look 
unusually  young,  and  attracted  passing  glances  of 
disapproval  or  curiosity  to  her  solitary  condition. 
The  day  had  been  sunless  throughout,  but  the 
panelled  room  looked  cosy  despite  the  hungry  day- 
light, and  against  its  dark  background  Mary's 
figure  had  the  innocence  of  a  lost  child,  so  that  a 
waiter  took  her  in  hand  as  if  by  instinct. 

"  Pardon  me,  madam,  there  was  a  telephone 
message  for  you." 

"  Yes,"  said  Mary  indifferently.  "  What  is 
it?  " 

"  The  porter  took  it.  I  think  it  was  that  the 
gentleman  will  be  here  as  soon  after  eight  as 
possible. ' ' 

"  Very  well.    Which  is  my  table?  " 

He  had  secured  one  in  such  a  remote  and  se- 
cluded corner  that  Mary  nearly  laughed,  remem- 


WANDERING  FIRES  41 

bering  Mrs.  Carpenter's  challenge  of  her  wish  to 
be  "  conspicuous."  Had  Clare  Carpenter  not 
sought  to  jockey  her  like  that  she  would  probably 
have  chosen  to  sit  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  for 
she  liked  other  people  to  see,  and  to  be  seen  by 
them;  but  that  word  "  conspicuous,"  and  the 
glances  of  the  diners  already  present,  made  her 
gloriously  restive.  She  would  not  even  go  out 
into  the  hall  again  to  await  her  guest ;  she  lounged 
sideways  in  her  chair  with  insolent  intent,  very 
obviously  expecting  somebody  to  join  her.  But 
as  a  matter  of  fact  she  was  thinking  more  of 
Major  Durham  at  the  Cavalry  Club  than  of  any- 
body else,  with  a  happy  stir  of  adventure  in  her 
blood,  when  she  looked  up  to  see  Eddie  Thorne. 

He  had  come  in  with  the  light  step  that  never 
betrayed  him,  and  was  standing  a  few  feet  away, 
looking  at  her  with  the  devil's  own  mischief  in  his 
face.  How  long  he  had  been  there  she  did  not 
know ;  but  it  struck  her,  not  by  any  means  for  the 
first  time,  that  his  eyes  were  much  darker  than 
those  of  men  with  more  swarthy  complexions,  and 
they  seemed  to  darken  with  his  mood,  so  that  the 
fire  in  them  never  betrayed  the  colour.  What  did 
not  strike  her,  as  it  would  have  done  an  older 
woman,  was  that  he  must  be  an  adept  at  walking 
noiselessly  in  dangerous  places — that  he  could 
come  and  go  unguessed  by  jealous  ears.  All  she 
recognised  of  Eddie  Thorne  was  the  ease  and 
swiftness  of  his  trained  movements. 

"  How  long  have  you  been  there?  "  she  de- 
manded, stretching  out  her  hand  to  him  across 
the  table  and  smiling  as  he  approached  and  took 
it.  The  other  diners  tried  not  to  turn  their  heads, 
but  she  was  perfectly  aware  that  she  was  the  point 
of  attraction  in  her  dim  corner. 

"  The  waiter  showed  me  your  table,  and  told  me 


42  WANDERING  FIRES 

the  lady  was  waiting.  I'm  very  sorry.  Am  I  so 
late?  You  are  looking  awfully  fit.  How  long 
have  you  been  up?  " 

"  Only  this  afternoon — I  had  an  adventure  as 
soon  as  I  got  to  Paddington.  Oh,  how  all  my  dear 
families  would  groan!  Do  sit  down,  Eddie.  I'm 
worse  than  hungry,  I'm  empty!  ' 

Thome  sat  down,  beside  her  instead  of  on  the 
opposite  side  of  the  little  table.  He  was  always  a 
smart  man,  but  in  evening-dress  he  was  perhaps 
at  his  best,  and  the  girl  looked  at  him  with  uncon- 
scious approval.  The  waiter  thrust  soup  upon 
them  as  on  those  who  had  waited  too  long,  and 
they  ate  it  to  dispose  of  it  and  him.  Then  Thorne 
put  his  arms  on  the  table  and  leaned  towards 
Mary  with  a  happy  oblivion  of  anyone  else  in  the 
room.  His  eyes  held  her,  and  she  found  it  difficult 
to  look  away  from  him  though  still  unembarrassed. 

"  Tell  me  " — his  voice  had  a  trick  of  going  as 
softly  as  his  feet,  and  yet  it  sounded  very  much 
alive — "  what  was  the  adventure?  " 

1 '  A  man  I  brought  as  far  as  the  Cavalry  Club 
in  my  cab — the  poor  wretch  had  been  waiting  for 
a  taxi  for  half  an  hour  and  I  cut  in  before  him. 
If  you  hadn't  turned  up  I  should  have  asked  him 
to  dine  instead.  I  expect  I  shall  have  him  to  lunch 
one  day,  anyway." 

"  You  had  better  not  do  that,  unless  you  know 
who  he  is.  What's  his  name?  " 

The  conventionality  of  his  tone  was  so  decided 
that  it  startled  her.  She  had  not  expected  such 
doctrine  from  Eddie— Eddie,  who  would  have 
drawn  anything  feminine  into  an  acquaintance  at 
one  encouraging  glance!  But  it  is  the  fast  man 
who  is  always  the  most  conventional  for  others 
than  himself. 


WANDEEING  FIRES  43 

"  He's  a  Major  Durham.  Wliy  shouldn't  I  ask 
him  to  lunch  if  it  amuses  me?  You  know  you 
would,  in  the  case  of  a  woman!  ' 

"  Yes,  but  my  dear  thing,  you  can't  do  what  I 
do.  You'll  get  in  a  mess,  and  wish  yourself  well 
out  of  it." 

"  I  shan't  ask  you  to  get  me  out  of  it,  anyway !  ' 
said  Mary  hotly.    * '  Why  should  it  be  any  safer  for 
you  than  for  me  I  ' 

*  *  Men  learn  to  judge — we  always  know.  Women 
are  so  silly,  they  put  out  their  tongue  at  any  man 
who  comes  along!  " 

This  view  of  her  indiscriminate  acquaintance 
caught  Mary  unawares.  She  was  furious  through 
the  fish  course,  and  silent  till  the  wine  waiter  laid 
the  list  insinuatingly  at  her  elbow.  But  Thome 's 
characteristic  comment  on  her  sex  was  having 
more  effect  than  any  personal  sermon  from  those 
more  in  authority  over  her. 

"  We'll  have  champagne,  Eddie.  Perhaps  if 
you  get  drunk  you  will  be  civil !  ' 

"  I  can't  help  it,"  said  Thorne  positively.  "  I 
am  not  going  to  let  you  play  the  fool  if  a  plain 
warning  can  save  you.  Champagne  is  thirty-five 
shillings  a  bottle,  Molly,  if  it  is  worth  drinking!  ' 

11  Never  mind — I  haven't  spent  any  money  at 
Restawhile  because  I  won  at  bridge  last  week." 
She  ordered  the  wine,  and  looked  at  Thorne  with 
her  brows  still  frowning.  Thorne  waited  until  the 
waiter  had  sped  upon  his  "  joyous  errand,"  and 
laid  his  hand  quickly  over  the  one  on  her  knee. 
"  You  don't  mind  me,  you  know,  Molly!  "  he  said. 

Her  slender,  strong  hand  lay  in  his  for  a  minute 
without  any  repulse.  She  rather  liked  his  touch, 
particularly  since  she  knew  that  no  one  else  in  all 
her  little  world  would  approve  of  it.  The  resent- 


44  WANDERING  FIRES 

ment  left  her  eyes  and  dropped  clown  upon  her 
lips  softened  to  a  pout.  Eddie's  hand  tightened 
coaxingly. 

11  Come  and  lunch  with  me  instead  of  Major 
Durham,  Molly,"  he  said.  "I'm  so  safe!  ' 

Then  she  laughed  outright,  in  enjoyment  of  the 
demure  lie.  But  so  far  he  had  been  safe  for  her, 
and  he  had  acted  the  incongruous  part  of  saving 
her  from  an  indiscretion.  She  looked  at  him 
afresh,  and  remembered  Mrs.  Carpenter's  remark 
about  the  girl  in  the  Russian  Ballet.  Perhaps  he 
was  married? — more  probably  not.  In  the  first 
place  it  was  his  own  secret,  and  in  the  second  she 
could  not  ask  questions.  But  she  found  him  the 
more  stimulating  for  the  mystery. 

11  I  ought  not  to  drink  champagne.  I  shall  have 
the  gout  some  day,"  said  Thorne,  as  the  wraiter 
filled  his  glass  a  third  time.  "  Pity  that  all  good 
things  have  a  to-morrow." 

"  You  don't  look  like  gout,"  said  Mary  scorn- 
fully, and  indeed  he  did  not.  "  I  might  just  as 
well  say  that  I  shall  have  bronchitis  when  I'm 
forty  because  father  catches  cold.  He's  laid  up 
with  it  now — but  that  doesn't  prevent  my  wearing 
a  low  gown!  ' 

"  It's  a  very  pretty  gown.  You  look  such  a 
good  little  girl  in  it,  somehow,  that  I  want  to  take 
you  on  my  knee  and  give  you  a  kiss !  " 

"  Eddie,  you've  had  too  much  champagne!  " 

"  I  swear  I  haven't."  He  was  rather  huffed, 
but  it  was  true  that  the  wine  had  set  their  blood 
dancing  with  equal  recklessness.  "  I  don't  drink, 
but  I've  the  head  of  a  rhinoceros,  if  I  wanted  to." 

"  Then  I  needn't  offer  you  my  arm  to  lead  you 
into  the  lounge,"  said  Mary  lightly,  as  she  rose 
from  the  table.  ' '  We  must  go  there  because  there 
is  nowhere  else  to  smoke.  It  will  be  beastly 


WANDERING  FIRES  45 

crowded,  but  at  least  we  can  shock  them.     Oh, 
Eddie,  do  help  me  to  shock  them!  " 

Despite  her  not  offering  him  her  arm  he  took  it 
surreptitiously,  and  together  they  strolled  across 
the  hall  and  into  the  further  room,  followed  by  as 
many  glances  as  even  Mary  could  wish.  Brown's 
is  an  hotel  full  of  corners ;  there  was  an  empty  one 
in  the  lounge,  shut  in  by  glass  screens  and  only 
intended  to  hold  two.  The  limited  space  was  so 
obvious  that  no  one  had  taken  possession,  but 
Mary  made  for  it  at  once,  though  Thome  had  dis- 
creetly dropped  her  arm.  They  sat  down  side  by 
side  and  began  to  whisper  and  giggle,  for  all  the 
world  like  two  rather  ill-mannered  children;  but 
the  intoxication  of  their  high  spirits  led  them  into 
such  tricks  in  face  of  a  public  which  after  all  made 
it  more  silly  than  dangerous.  There  was  no  earthly 
reason  for  their  sitting  in  such  obvious  tete-a-tete, 
except  a  love  of  accentuating  a  position  that  did 
not  exist.  But  they  found  their  diversion  in  the 
expression  of  other  guests  entering  the  lounge, 
who  either  looked  ostentatiously  the  other  way,  or 
furtively  under  lowered  lids,  or  made  their  faces 
as  masks  to  hide  their  real  opinions.  Long  after- 
wards Mary  Trefusis  looked  back  from  older  ex- 
perience and  marvelled  that  she  could  have  been 
so  empty-headed — and  so  unwise.  She  thought 
they  were  a  good  deal  excited  by  the  wine,  and  a 
trifle  sentimental.  What  amusement  could  it  have 
been  to  her  to  sit  hand-in-hand  with  Eddie  Thorne, 
with  his  eyes,  darkened  to  intensity,  on  her  face! 
Unless  indeed  she  were  a  little  in  love  with  him. 
The  possibility  seemed  afterwards  impossible — 
only,  the  smell  and  taste  of  a  certain  brand  of 
cigarettes  she  had  smoked  that  night  always 
brought  back  the  irresponsible  sense  of  his  near- 
ness, her  own  youth,  the  wonder  about  the  Russian 


46  WANDERING  FIRES 

dancer,  and  the  momentary  passion  of  his  eyes. 
...  A  more  matured  judgment  and  a  later 
knowledge  of  life  told  her  that  had  they  been  really 
alone  all  her  sang  froid  could  not  have  saved  her. 
He  would  have  made  love.  She  did  not  then,  or 
even  much  later,  know  what  Eddie's  love-making 
might  be.  The  impression  of  him  that  remained 
to  her  that  night  was  of  a  restless  clasping  and 
unclasping  of  fingers,  and  dark  eyes  that  might 
look  and  say  too  much  for  a  girl's  peace  of  mind; 
but  she  remembered  little  of  the  nonsense  they 
talked  save  one  quick  speech  of  his  that  struck  an 
echo  in  her  sleeping  consciousness. 

"  You  asked  me  to  dinner  to-night  instead  of 
all  the  other  men  you  know — so  you  must  have 
liked  me!  I  believe  you  will  always  come  back 
to  me,  Molly,  even  though  you  follow  wandering 
fires. ' ' 

"  I  wonder,  if  I  did  anything  outright — lived 
with  some  man  and  didn't  marry  him,  you  know — 
whether  I  could  tell  you!  ' 

'  *  Y-yes ! — of  course  you  could. ' '  The  drawl  did 
not  alter  the  eagerness  of  his  words.  It  sounded 
almost  as  if  he  would  encourage  that  confession, 
and  she  wondered  if  he  would  welcome  her  as  a 
fellow-sinner.  "  You  never  have,  have  you?  " 

"  No — it  was  not  worth  it."  She  did  not  say 
she  had  never  been  asked,  but  as  a  matter  of  fact 
the  superhuman  efforts  of  her  family  had  really 
shepherded  her  so  far,  despite  her  own  foolhardi- 
ness  of  speech  and  action.  And  no  one  save 
Thome  had  ever  put  such  a  question  to  her,  either. 
She  was  assuming  the  license  of  her  modernity,  as 
many  girls  do  out  of  shame  for  their  own  inno- 
cence. But  then  she  spoilt  her  effect  by  an  asser- 
tion that  proved  her  youth.  "  I  don't  think  it  ever 
would  be  worth  it. ' ' 


WANDERING  FIRES  47 

"  You  don't  know  what  you  are  talking  about." 
Quite  suddenly  his  voice  had  grown  positive,  as 
of  one  who  did  know.  ' '  To  love  someone  so  much 
that  nothing  else  matters — that's  the  most  won- 
derful experience  you  can  have.  And  it's  all  your 
own — there's  no  one  else  but  you  in  one  person's 
life — isn't  that  worth  anything?  " 

She  turned  in  the  cramped  space  beside  him  and 
looked  at  him  with  wondering  eyes,  for  it  was  as  if 
he  spoke  to  her  from  beyond  a  boundary  that  she 
might  not  cross.  They  were  so  close  together  that 
they  touched  if  they  moved,  and  a  minute  since  he 
had  been  vitally  aware  of  it.  Now  he  was  hardly 
conscious  of  her,  save  as  someone  to  whom  to  ex- 
press his  incomprehensible  triumph.  She  won- 
dered resentfully  what  he  meant,  and  why  she  felt 
thrust  beyond  the  pale.  She  shrank  a  little,  look- 
ing at  him  with  those  clear  empty  eyes  that  held 
no  experience. 

:<  I'm  not  in  love."  She  tried  to  say  it  ironi- 
cally, but  it  only  sounded  sullen. 

"  When  you  are,  you  won't  talk  nonsense.  It's 
all  very  well,  Molly;  you  can  weigh  the  pros  and 
cons  and  say  the  game  is  not  worth  the  candle,  so 
long  as  it's  only  a  kiss  and  good-bye.  I've  done  it 
scores  of  times — though  I  must  own  that  the  game 
generally  has  been  worth  the  candle !  "  he  added 
with  the  devil's  own  honesty.  "  But  when  it's 
serious  with  you,  you  won't  think  whether  it's 
worth  while — you'll  know  it  is." 

"  Even  to  the  bitter  end?  " 

"  Even  to  the  bitter  end,  if  it  comes  to  that." 

"  I  have  always  been  able  to  say  no!  "  said 
Mary  boastfully. 

"  It's  very  easy  to  say  no  when  you've  no  in- 
clination to  say  yes !  "lie  retorted  quickly.  "  You 
haven't  felt  it  yet.  I'm  sp  aldng  to  you  as  if  you 


48 

were  a  young  man,  Molly,  and  not  a  little  fool  of  a 
girl,  because  I  think  you  can  stand  it.  Passion 
isn't  love — but  when  you  love  you'll  find  that  pas- 
sion's part  of  it,  and  then  it  doesn't  matter."  For 
the  moment  Thorne  was  in  earnest;  he  almost 
struggled  for  words  to  make  himself  understood 
about  a  feeling  that  he  did  not  understand  himself. 
And  Mary  Trefusis  was  as  helpless  as  he  through 
her  own  lack  of  experience  in  what  he  tried  to  de- 
scribe and  a  resentful  sense  that  she  could  not 
gauge  his  depth  of  feeling.  Because  he  believed 
in  himself  she  believed  in  him,  and  it  seemed  to 
separate  them  and  made  her  vaguely  discomfited. 
She  was  rather  relieved  when  he  left  her  to  go  on 
to  a  neglected  engagement,  though  she  promised 
to  lunch  with  him  next  day  at  the  Bath  Club; 
and  she  went  to  bed  yawning  and  with  the  impres- 
sion that  London  was  not  so  amusing  as  she  had 
thought  earlier  in  the  day. 

1(1  Eddie's  not  a  bit  what  people  think  he  is," 
she  said  to  herself  with  the  loftiness  of  her  youth. 
"  He  shows  me  a  different  side  to  the  rest  of  the 
world. ' ' 

Had  she  known  more  she  would  have  realised 
that  no  man  ever  is  what  people  think  of  him, 
entirely.  The  complication  lies  in  the  fact  that  he 
deceives  himself  more  than  his  public. 


CHAPTER  III 

THERE  was  a  big  bunch  of  roses  for  Mary 
when  she  came  down  to  breakfast  next  morn- 
ing,  with  Major  Durham's  card.  He  had 
only  written  on  it,  "  With  sincerest  thanks  for 
your  neighbourliness, "  and  the  telephone  num- 
ber of  the  Cavalry  Club;  but  it  had  the  effect  of 
making  her  wish  that  she  had  not  promised  Eddie 
to  lunch  with  him  in  place  of  the  newer  man.  If 
he  were  going  to  be  as  serious  as  he  was  last  night 
she  would  rather  have  Major  Durham;  but  she 
cheered  up  again  when  she  remembered  that  Eddie 
never  was  serious  for  long,  except  over  games. 

At  eleven  o'clock  she  went  out,  Mrs.  Carpenter 
not  having  yet  put  in  an  appearance,  with  the  far- 
off  objective  of  ordering  household  crockery  at 
the  Army  and  Navy  Stores,  and  walked  down  into 
Piccadilly  looking  for  a  taxi-cab.  They  were  as 
scarce  as  the  day  before,  and  the  day  was  chill 
though  not  wet ;  so  Mary  walked  on  to  Hyde  Park 
Corner,  and  stood  outside  the  arch  watching  the 
vehicles  come  out  of  the  Park  and  pass  her.  A 
motor,  empty  save  for  the  driver,  slowed  down  as 
he  passed  and  then  stopped  at  the  kerb.  Mary 
looked  at  him  and  smiled.  She  had  learned  to 
regard  every  empty  car  as  her  natural  heritage 
during  her  munitions  work. 

"  I  can't  get  a  cab!  "  she  said,  her  eyes  noting 
that  he  was  evidently  the  owner,  though  it  would 
not  have  deterred  her  had  he  been  only  the  chauf- 
feur. 

49 


50  WANDERING  FIRES 

1 '  Want  a  lift!"  he  asked,  raising  his  hat 
slightly.  "  I'm  going  down  to  Victoria.  That 
suit  you?  " 

"  Please!  " 

He  opened  the  door,  and  she  got  into  the  seat 
beside  him.  "  I  want  to  go  to  the  Stores,"  she 
said.  "  Put  me  down  where  you  like." 

He  looked  at  her  face,  and  said:  "  I  think  I've 
time. ' ' 

"  What's  the  car?  "  said  Mary  amicably. 

' (  She 's  an  Overland.    Driven  one  ?  ' 

"  No — but  I  know  them.  Doesn't  jolt  on  a  bad 
road,  does  she?  " 

11  Doesn't  jolt  on  anything.  She's  a  light-weight 
car.  Done  three  thousand  miles  this  year." 

"  Good!  '\ 

He  drove  in  silence  for  a  few  minutes  through 
the  traffic  lines  meeting  outside  St.  George's  Hos- 
pital. Then :  "  D  'you  girls  ever  think  what  might 
happen?  "  he  said. 

"  It  couldn't  in  London,"  said  Mary  serenely. 

"  I  don't  believe  you  would  care  about  anything 
that  couldn't."  He  laughed  a  little,  and  the  lines 
started  into  prominence  in  his  face,  showing  her 
that  he  was  not  very  young.  His  tenets,  there- 
fore, were  hardly  hers. 

"  Of  course,  you  might  have  been  objection- 
able," she  said  coolly.  "  But  then,  I  wanted  to 
get  there!  " 

"  Is  that  really  the  reason,  or  do  you  like  the 
newness  of  your  liberty?  ' 

11  Perhaps.  Life  must  have  been  deadly  even  a 
few  years  ago,  before  the  Avar." 

"  You  were  at  school  then." 

"  I  have  never  been  at  school — except  to  the 
world.  I  was  educated  that  way." 


WANDERING  FIRES  51 

"  And  you  think  that  your  education  is  fin- 
ished? " 

Something  in  the  gentle  cynicism  of  his  manner 
made  her  flush.  She  remembered  Eddie's  voice 
last  night  when  he  told  her  that  she  did  not  know 
what  she  was  talking  about,  and  she  felt  as  if  her 
youth  hampered  her  instead  of  being  the  Open 
Sesame  to  life  as  she  devoutly  believed.  If  you 
belonged  to  the  age  you  could  do  anything;  and 
yet  everybody  seemed  combining  to  tell  her  that 
she  had  done  nothing.  She  sat  in  restive  silence 
while  he  drove  very  prettily  through  Victoria 
Street,  longing  to  say  something  clever  that 
should  exonerate  her;  but  it  would  not  come,  and 
when  he  drew  up  at  the  Stores  all  she  found  to 
give  him  was  the  ordinary  thanks  that  she  owed. 

"  Good-bye,"  he  said,  still  with  that  indulgent 
smile.  "  I  am  very  glad  to  have  had  your  com- 
pany. When  you  meet  him  at  lunch  don't  crush 
him  with  your  independence !  ' ' 

She  stared  at  him  for  a  minute,  and  then 
laughed.  * '  I  'm  lunching  with  my  husband !  ' '  she 
said  on  impulse,  secure  in  the  fact  of  her  gloved 
hands.  "  He's  used  to  me  by  this  time,"  and  ran 
up  the  steps  into  the  drug  department. 

There  was  time  and  to  spare  before  she  need 
meet  Eddie  in  Dover  Street  at  one-thirty,  and, 
her  household  orders  given,  Mary  strolled  into 
the  jewellery  department  to  buy  a  gold  safety-pin 
for  her  boating-ties,  having  dropped  her  own  into 
the  Thames  while  she  was  endeavouring  to  jab  a 
boathook  into  the  Berkshire  bank  with  intent  to 
land  on  someone  else's  property.  As  she  leaned 
over  the  counter,  selecting  her  pin,  she  became 
aware  of  a  purchaser  next  to  her  who  could  not 
make  up  his  mind  between  pearl  and  turquoise 


52  WANDERING  FIEES 

earrings  and  a  muff-chain  in  coral  and  gold.  The 
self -consciousness  of  a  man  in  such  circumstances 
is  never  visible  in  any  woman  selecting  the  most 
masculine  of  collar-studs  or  sleeve-links.  She  is 
as  suave  as  if  the  supposed  brother  or  husband 
for  whom  she  chooses  stood  by  her  in  the  flesh; 
but  a  man  discredits  a  sister  or  a  wife  by  his  every 
movement.  Mary  glanced  out  of  the  corners  of 
her  eyes  with  passing  amusement  at  her  neigh- 
bour's agitation,  and  the  gruffness  of  the  voice  in 
which  he  asked  whether  earrings  were  still  worn, 
or  muff-chains  popular.  She  saw  him  drop  the 
chain  as  if  burnt,  and  her  speaking  face  became  as 
serious  as  if  they  had  met  at  a  funeral. 

"  Do  let  me  help!  "  she  said  kindly,  and  not 
even  the  solitary  dimple  in  her  cheek  betrayed 
her.  Mary  had  only  one  dimple,  but  it  was  so 
deep  that  when  she  laughed  she  looked  like  a 
naughty  child  sucking  in  its  cheek  for  mischief. 
"  I  love  choosing  wedding  presents,"  she  said 
smoothly. 

The  relief  in  his  face  was  so  obvious  as  nearly 
to  disarm  her.  She  had  given  him  the  phrase 
behind  which  to  ambush  himself. 

"  Will  you?  "  he  said  gratefully.  "  A  man 
never  knows  what  is  worn  now. ' ' 

"  Don't  you  know  if  she  likes  earrings?  "  mur- 
mured Mary,  bending  over  the  case.  "  You  must 
have  seen  if  she  wears  them!  >: 

"  I  don't  know  her  very  well,"  he  said,  and 
flushed  again.  She  saw  then  that  he  was  young, 
in  years  as  well  as  finesse. 

"  Is  she  fair  or  dark?  " 

11  Rather  dark — well,  brown  hair.  Not  so  fair 
as  yours,"  he  said  confidentially. 

"  Then  for  heaven's  sake  don't  give  her  tur- 
quoise— dark  women  never  look  well  in  them.  I 


WANDERING  FIRES  53 

should  take  the  muff-chain."  They  were  both 
speaking  under  breath,  bending  absorbed  above 
the  trinkets,  while  the  patient  assistant  regarded 
them  with  no  expression  at  all  in  his  eyes. 

*  *  D  'you  think  so  ?  Thanks— I  '11  take  that. ' '  He 
pushed  the  chain  across  the  glass  case  and  looked 
round  at  Mary.  "  It's  awfully  good  of  you — 
really  awfully  good!  "  he  said,  as  if  for  the  first 
time  he  saw  the  profile  that  had  helped  him  to 
choose. 

"  I  liked  doing  it,"  said  Mary  frankly,  leaning 
sideways  against  the  counter  and  giving  him  the 
benefit  of  her  full  face.  "  It's  so  amusing  to  put 
a  finger  into  other  people's  lives  when  you  don't 
know  them. '  ' 

"  I  wish "  he  said,  and  stopped.  It  was  so 

evident  what  he  wished  that  she  laughed  again. 
"  Well,  I  don't  know  either  of  you!  "  she  said 
carelessly.  She  turned  to  her  own  purchase  and 
gave  her  father's  ticket  number  and  name,  and 
the  address  on  the  river,  really  unaware  that  the 
young  man  of  the  coral  muff-chain  was  listening 
in  silence.  They  crossed  to  the  pay-desk  together, 
and  each  paid  for  their  respective  goods,  and 
then  turned  as  by  a  mutual  impulse  to  another 
department. 

"  I  suppose  you  are  not  lunching  here?  "  said 
the  young  man  after  a  minute's  hesitation.  His 
eyes  implored  her  not  to  snub  him,  but  she  was 
too  casual  to  have  taken  the  trouble  without  his 
making  himself  obnoxious.  It  amused  Mary 
Trefusis  to  speak  to  strangers  on  the  highways 
of  life,  knowing  that  only  a  few  years  since  it 
would  have  been  a  social  impossibility.  But  that 
was  all — she  had  no  thought  of  unclean  develop- 
ment. 

"  No,  I'm  not  lunching  here,"  she  said  care- 


54  WANDERING  FIRES 

lessly.  "  I'm  going  on  now — good-bye.  I  hope 
she'll  like  the  muff-chain!  ' 

To  her  faint  surprise  he  held  out  his  hand. 
"  Good-bye,"  he  said.  "  But  I  don't  know  that  I 
shall  give  the  muff-chain  to  her — or  to  anybody. ' ' 
She  had  given  him  her  hand  because  he  asked  it, 
but  when  he  almost  clung  to  it  she  looked  honestly 
astonished.  She  could  not  believe  in  anybody  so 
impressionable  as  to  make  loth  to  leave  her  after 
a  few  looks  and  words. 

"  Can't  I  do  anything  for  you  in  return?  "  he 
said,  and  almost  stammered  in  his  eagerness. 

*  *  Well — you  can  find  me  a  cab  if  such  a  thing  is 
possible.  But  I  couldn't  get  one  at  Hyde  Park 
Corner  this  morning." 

His  face  cleared  with  a  pleasure  that  was  pa- 
thetic, had  she  been  aware  of  pathos,  and  he  went 
down  with  her  in  the  lift  with  a  sense  of  belonging 
to  her,  though  but  for  a  moment,  that  struck  her 
as  absurd.  She  stood  on  the  steps  outside  the 
Stores  to  watch  him  skilfully  engage  a  taxi  that 
had  just  brought  a  fare,  and  allowed  him  to  put 
her  in  and  to  stand  for  a  moment  at  the  door. 

"  Tell  him  Brown's  Hotel,  please,"  she  said, 
and  was  rather  relieved  to  leave  him  on  the  pave- 
ment, for  she  began  to  be  afraid  that  he  would 
ask  if  he  might  come  part  of  the  way  with  her. 

"  Don't  think  the  muff-chain  girl  has  got  him 
very  tight,"  mused  Mary,  as  she  was  driven  back 
to  the  hotel.  On  the  whole  the  morning  had  not 
been  misspent,  and  she  wanted  to  change  her  hat 
for  lunch;  but  she  regretted  that  she  had  had  no 
chance  to  buy  any  clothes. 

' '  I  must  do  that  to-morrow,  unless  I  take  Eddie 
with  me  this  afternoon,"  she  thought,  and  entered 
the  hotel,  to  be  met  by  the  porter  with  a  telegram. 

"  Just  come,  miss,"  he  said. 


WANDERING  FIRES  55 

Mary  stood  still  in  the  hall  to  open  and  read  it, 
but  its  contents — it  was  a  long  wire — hardly 
reached  her  understanding  for  a  few  minutes.  She 
was  still  standing  there  when  Mrs.  Carpenter  came 
out  of  the  lounge  and  met  her. 

"  How  early  you  breakfast,  Mary!  "  she  said. 
"  Been  out  since?  I  do  hope  you've  been  alone! 
Three  people  have  already  told  me  that  you  be- 
haved disgracefully  last  night,  and  that  Mr. 
Thorne  is  no  fit  acquaintance  for  you."  She 
waited  for  a  blaze  of  retort,  but  none  came.  "  Is 
anything  the  matter?  "  she  said  in  a  quickened 
tone. 

"  My  father  .  .  ."  said  Mary  uncertainly.  "  I 
think  he  is  very  ill.  James  says  we  must  come 
back  at  once." 

Mrs.  Carpenter  gave  an  exclamation  of  dismay. 
11  But  he  was  at  Sandown  Park.  Has  he  come 
home?  " 

*  *  Yes — they  have  a  nurse.  It  seems  to  be  pneu- 
monia. Clare,  will  you  look  out  a  train  and  order 
me  a  cab  while  I  find  Berkeley  and  throw  the  lug- 
gage together?  "  She  had  started  across  the  hall 
to  the  staircase  even  as  she  spoke.  "  Tell  them 
to  send  me  my  bill, ' '  she  called  back  to  Mrs.  Car- 
penter, already  instructing  the  porter. 

Half  an  hour  later  she  was  on  her  way  to  Pad- 
dington,  with  Berkeley,  pale  and  scared,  beside 
her.  They  had  had  no  chance  to  lunch,  and  it  was 
characteristic  of  Mary  that  she  deputed  Clare  Car- 
penter to  ring  Thorne  up  at  the  Bath,  where  he 
would  be  waiting,  and  tell  him  what  had  happened. 
So  Mrs.  Carpenter  found  herself  particeps  crim- 
inis  to  a  lunch-party  which  she  would  either  have 
condemned  or  ignored  had  it  taken  place  to  her 
knowledge,  and  her  voice  through  the  telephone 
was  crisp  and  brief. 


56  WANDERING  FIRES 

All  the  way  down  to  the  riverside  cottage  Mary 
sat  looking  at  the  cold  green  landscape  with 
troubled  eyes  but  a  vague  sense  of  resentment 
upon  her.  She  could  not  conceive  of  her  father 
as  being  really  seriously  ill,  though  pneumonia 
left  no  comfortable  room  for  disregarding  it  in 
her  mind;  but  she  could  not  help  feeling  that  it 
had  spoiled  her  excursion,  and  that  as  father  had 
been  away  for  some  weeks  and  had  not  needed  her 
all  that  time  it  was  a  pity  that  she  had  not  gone 
up  to  town  earlier.  Her  face  was  quite  serious 
and  a  little  white  as  they  came  home  from  the 
station,  but  she  had  no  clutch  of  immediate  fear 
at  her  heart  until  she  was  driven  up  through  the 
formal  front  garden  to  the  porch.  And  then,  even 
as  she  stepped  out  of  the  cab,  she  saw  James  come 
to  open  casement  windows,  of  the  dining-room, 
closQ  them,  and  draw  down  the  blinds. 

"  He  died  twenty  minutes  ago,"  said  the  nurse, 
mechanically  glancing  at  her  watch  to  make  sure 
of  her  assertion.  "  But  of  course  he  knew  no  one- 
since  early  this  morning,  and  he  was  unconscious 
during  the  night. ' ' 

11  Did  he  ask  for  me?  "  Mary  questioned,  look- 
ing with  puckered  eyes  at  the  collected  face  of  this 
girl  who  was  but  little  older  than  herself,  but  who 
had  been  sent  hot-haste  to  take  charge  of  the  situa- 
tion and  run  a  race  with  death. 

11  No,  he  asked  for  no  one.  He  was  too  ill,  yon 
know.  They  do  not  think  of  anything  but  their 
bodily  needs.  He  asked  for  water.  His  tempera- 
ture was  one  hundred  and  six  degrees.''  She  was 
very  sorry  for  Mary,  with  her  white,  tired  face, 
and  immediately  thought  of  material  comforts 
through  the  habit  of  her  training.  Her  profession 
was  a  practical  one.  Berkeley  was  nearly  in  a 


WANDERING  FIRES  57 

state  of  collapse  from  the  shock  and  the  strain  she 
had  gone  through — she  was  not  a  young  woman, 
and  the  responsibility  of  Miss  Mary  tried  her, 
without  added  burdens.  She  was  taken  to  the 
housekeeper's  room  by  the  sympathetic  staff,  and 
told  all  the  dreary  details  that  her  soul  loved.  The 
nurse  took  charge  of  Mary  and  saw  that  she  had 
some  food,  but  her  statement  was  of  the  briefest, 
nor  did  she  encourage  her  charge  to  rack  herself 
with  questions  as  to  when  the  illness  became  acute 
and  if  her  father  could  have  been  saved.  Captain 
Trefusis  had  come  home  unexpectedly  with  the 
instinct  of  animals  or  human  beings  who  feel  that 
their  time  has  come  and  make  for  their  homes. 
Perhaps  the  journey  in  unseasonable  weather  (it 
had  been  bitterly  cold  for  July)  had  brought  the 
climax  to  his  illness,  but  it  would  have  been  im- 
possible to  stop  his  return. 

Not  until  she  stood  by  the  unresponsive  figure 
on  the  bed  did  Mary  realise  that  he  wa^  gone.  The 
denial  of  death  met  the  warm  pulsing  life  in  her 
with  its  full  shock,  and  the  familiarity  of  his  face 
had  changed  to  a  stranger 's.  He  had  been  a  hand- 
some man,  of  a  type  that  is  more  human  than 
ascetic,  and  his  code  of  morality  had  been  so 
strictly  in  accord  with  the  world's  that  there  had 
been  a  certain  indulgent  acceptance  of  it  in  his 
daughter 's  mind.  She  knew  that  there  was  a  bet- 
ter standard,  but  she  did  not  recognise  that  he  did 
also.  Now,  looking  at  that  unknown  face  moulded 
in  old  wax,  she  saw  him  spiritualised,  and  felt  as 
if  she  had  missed  a  point  of  view  she  might  have 
had.  He  looked  more  worn  than  he  had  in  life, 
and  she  wondered  if  it  were  his  illness,  or  perhaps 
he  was  not  so  easy-going  as  he  had  seemed? 
Finally  she  rushed  away  to  cry  healthily  and  nat- 
urally until  her  eyes  were  sore  and  her  heart  eased. 


58  WANDERING  FIRES 

He  had  never  caused  her  so  much  emotion  before 
in  all  her  twenty-one  years. 

There  was  a  consultation  in  the  family  as  to  who 
should  go  down  for  the  funeral  and  assist  the 
orphan  to  settle  her  father's  affairs,  of  which  no 
one  knew  anything  to  speak  of.  It  was  a  catastro- 
phe that  this  should  have  happened  while  Lady 
Alex  Ratrick  was  in  India  and  could  not  be  counted 
upon  to  put  her  own  arrangements  aside  and  come 
home  to  manage  Miss  Trefusis'.  In  her  absence 
the  family  felt  themselves  singularly  incompetent 
to  undertake  this  task  now  that  even  the  titular 
authority  of  her  father  was  gone,  and  there  was  a 
sneaking  tendency  to  shirk  the  responsibility. 
Finally,  a  first  cousin  of  Captain  Trefusis  made 
the  unwelcome  journey  to  Restawhile,  and  brought 
his  wife  with  him — for  the  comfort  of  confidences 
rather  than  any  added  control  of  their  young 
hostess.  Mary  raised  no  objection  to  Colonel  and 
Mrs.  Doyle;  she  was  rather  thankful  that  they 
were  there  to  settle  the  technicalities  of  the  situa- 
tion. The  funeral  was  arranged  from  London,  but 
at  first  no  will  could  be  discovered,  and  Colonel 
Doyle  was  busy  writing  to  Captain  Trefusis'  law- 
yer and  the  bank  where  he  kept  his  account,  to 
know  if  either  of  them  could  inform  him  of  its 
whereabouts.  The  will  was  finally  discovered  in 
a  looked  cash-box  at  Restawhile  with  other  old 
papers,  and  was  dated  long  since :  but  the  enquiries 
to  the  solicitor  and  banker  brought  forth  the  first 
revelation  of  the  state  of  Poker  Trefusis'  affairs. 
The  lawyer  regretted  to  inform  his  heirs,  etc.,  that 
for  some  years  Captain  Trefusis'  money  matters 
had  been  in  a  most  unsatisfactory  state,  and  he 
had  repeatedly  urged  retrenchment  and  strict  en- 
quiry into  them.  The  banker  was  even  more  ex- 
plicit. He  could  not  supply  details  of  the  securi- 


WANDERING  FIRES  59 

ties  deposited  with  him,  because  he  regretted  to 
state  that  they  had  one  by  one  been  realised,  until 
there  was  nothing  left  but  some  bonds  that  would 
cover  the  overdraft  on  the  account.  Captain 
Trefusis  had  been  living  on  his  capital  for  some 
years,  and  had  he  not  died  his  pension  wrould 
have  been  all  that  was  left  to  him.  Even  Rest- 
awhile  was  heavily  mortgaged,  and  there  was 
nothing  to  meet  the  interest.  The  old  poker- 
player  had  laid  his  cards  on  the  table  at  last,  and 
the  faces  of  his  survivors  proved  how  well  he  had 
bluffed. 

11  Do  you  mean  that  father  was  bankrupt?  " 
asked  Mary,  with  wide-eyed  incredulity,  staring 
at  Colonel  Doyle. 

"  He  would  have  been  in  a  few  months,  if  the 
luck  had  gone  against  him  any  more  at  cards!  " 
said  Colonel  Doyle  grimly.  "  It  is  simply  shame- 
ful that  your  mother  had  no  marriage  settle- 
ment! " 

11  You  forget,  Arty,  it  was  a  runaway  match!  " 
said  Mrs.  Doyle  soothingly.  "  Everyone  was  so 
angry  with  Victoria  for  behaving  as  she  did  that 
they  said  she  might  go  her  own  way,  and  they 
washed  their  hands  of  her.  Alex  did  not  speak  to 
her  for  years,  and  by  that  time  it  was  too  late  to 
talk  about  marriage  settlements." 

' '  But  when  Mary  was  born  it  ought  to  have  been 
seen  to,"  said  Colonel  Doyle  irritably.  "It  is 
very  hard  on  her!  '; 

"  You  mean  that  I  haven't  a  penny?  "  said 
Mary,  almost  curiously.  The  strangeness  of  her 
father's  death  had  been  so  great  that  a  second 
shock  made  the  less  impression  on  her.  "  I  shall 
have  to  do  something — earn  my  own  living?  " 

"  Oh,  we  can't  tell  that  as  yet,"  said  the  Colonel 
hurriedly.  Experience  taught  him  to  guard 


60  WANDERING  FIRES 

against  Mary's  habit  of  instant  action  without  con- 
sidering the  matter  deliberately.  "  I  shall  have 
to  see  the  solicitors,  and  so  will  you.  There  may 
be  something  saved  out  of  the  ruin — the  sale  of 
this  place,  for  instance." 

Mary  rose  rather  suddenly.  They  had  all  been 
sitting  in  the  smoking-room,  which  had  been  study 
or  "  den  "  as  well  to  the  master  of  the  house,  and 
its  comfortable  seclusion  seemed  too  confined  for 
the  startling  change  in  her  life. 

"  I  hope  you'll  see  to  all  the  business  for  me, 
Cousin  Arthur,"  she  said  decidedly.  "  About 
selling  the  house,  and  getting  rid  of  the  furniture 
and  all  that." 

"  And  the  servants,"  added  Mrs.  Doyle,  un- 
easily conscious  of  the  ample  staff  with  their  solid 
appetites,  and  the  overdraft  at  the  bank. 

"  Oh,  yes — all  that.  I  suppose  we  must  keep  the 
kitchen-maid  to  cook  for  us,  and  one  of  the  house- 
maids, and  James — I  should  hang  on  to  James  if  I 
were  you,  he  knows  where  everything  is!  " 

"  You  will  miss  Berkeley,  Mary.  She  has  been 
with  you  since  you  were  a  child. ' ' 

"  She  won't  miss  me!  "  said  Mary  with  some 
bravado  to  disguise  the  burning  in  her  eyes.  * '  Sh« 
will  be  thankful  to  retire.  I  have  nearly  worn  her 
out." 

She  went  out  into  the  garden,  to  gather  breath 
and  face  the  future.  The  blank  feeling  of  loss — 
loss  of  everything  in  life  that  she  had  taken  for 
granted — was  succeeded  by  a  sense  of  excitement, 
a  bracing  of  her  nerves  by  the  very  extremity  she 
was  in.  She  brushed  aside  the  solution  to  the 
problem  which  she  recognised  in  Colonel  Doyle's 
attitude,  and  decided  at  once  that  she  would  not  be 
given  temporary  homes  with  various  relatives  who 
would  hope  silently  but  prayerfully  for  her  mar- 


WANDERING  FIRES  61 

riage.  She  had  the  independence  of  her  age,  and 
she  would  work.  Other  girls  and  young  women 
associated  with  her  in  munitions  and  hospitals  had 
worked  before  the  war  and  were  doing  so  now,  and 
she  had  grown  familiar  with  their  outlook  on  life 
in  somewise,  though  she  did  not  -know  the  differ- 
ence of  actual  experience. 

Her  restless  feet  carried  her  across  the  lawns 
and  towards  the  hammock  wrhere  she  had  sat  with 
Eddie  Thome  a  few  weeks  since  that  seemed  as 
many  years.  She  had  forgotten  him  as  a  vivid 
personality  in  the  stress  of  sharper  happenings, 
but  his  face  rose  suddenly  before  her  mind — the 
irregular  face  that  women  found  so  much  more 
attractive  than  a  duller  type  of  good  looks,  and 
the  incongruous  dark  eyes.  To  suit  his  hair  and 
complexion  Eddie's  eyes  should  have  been  light, 
probably  blue,  for  he  was  unmistakably  English 
in  any  community.  He  had  a  trick  of  frowning 
and  smiling  at  the  same  time  that  accentuated  his 
eyes.  She  caught  a  memory  of  his  characteristics 
that  made  him  seem  very  near,  sitting  on  the  old 
tree-stump  with  his  hands  hanging  between  his 
knees  and  his  long,  straight  back  leaning  a  little 
forward  as  he  looked  at  her.  .  .  .  And  then  behind 
him  rose  the  vision  of  the  strange  man  in  the  gar- 
den, who  in  turn  developed  into  a  personality — 
Jefferson  Bromley — and  the  whole  procession  of 
the  morning  marched  across  Mary's  consciousness, 
the  film  company  and  their  rehearsal.  .  .  . 

She  stopped  short  before  she  reached  the  ham- 
mock, and  her  eyes  sought  the  glimpse  of  the 
Wilderness  beyond  without  seeing  it.  Here  was 
the  solution  of  the  immediate  difficulty  before  her, 
and  a  start  in  life  at  least,  even  if  it  proved  a  cul- 
de-sac.  She  would  write  to  Jefferson  Bromley  and 
tell  him  what  had  happened — in  outline — and  ask 


62  WANDERING  FIRES 

him  to  help  her  to  some  training  for  cinema  work, 
and  an  engagement  as  soon  as  possible  on  account 
of  her  slender  resources. 

"  When  I've  cleared  out  everything  that  belongs 
to  me  personally,"  said  Mary  to  the  summer 
silence  of  the  garden,  "  I  shall  have  about  twenty 
pounds.  I  wonder  how  long  I  can  live  on  twenty 
pounds!  " 


CHAPTEE  IV 

IT  is  kinder  to  draw  a  veil  over  the  defeat  of 
Mary  Trefusis'  relatives  and  connections  when 
they  opposed  her  scheme  for  earning  her  own 
living.  Naturally  enough,  they  disliked  it  very 
much  on  account  of  its  publicity  and  Mary 's  known 
character.  A  quieter  girl  might  have  persuaded 
them  that  there  was  at  least  no  advertisement  in 
her  venture,  a  plainer  one  would  have  been  less 
of  a  mark  for  danger.  It  must  be  admitted  that 
there  was  nothing  in  Mary's  career  so  far  to  jus- 
tify confidence  in  her  capability  to  look  after  her- 
self. She  had  been  dragged,  fiercely  resisting,  out 
of  one  scrape  after  another  from  her  childhood  up, 
and  her  serene  belief  in  her  own  immunity  from 
results  was  due  to  her  perspiring  guardians  rather 
than  herself. 

"  Well,  let  her  go  to  the  devil!  It  will  do  her 
good,"  said  Colonel  Doyle  at  last,  after  an  alterca- 
tion in  which  Mary  had  rather  enjoyed  the  combat 
and  her  own  determination, 

"  Yes,  but  my  dear  Arty,  people  who  go  there 
so  seldom  return  intact!  "  said  Mrs.  Doyle  hope- 
lessly. "  If  they  don't  lose  their  reputation  they 
lose  their  looks,  and  that's  worse." 

"  Serve  her  right!  '  growled  her  husband, 
smarting  under  a  sense  of  having  been  swept  aside 
by  the  girl's  headlong  will,  the  ruthlessness  of 
youth.  The  worst  of  it  was  that  she  had  never 
grown  exasperated  in  her  turn,  or  asserted  herself 
hotly,  or  made  a  scene.  He  was  intolerably  aware 

68 


64 

that  it  was  he  who  had  done  these  things  through 
a  sense  of  duty,  while  she  had  smilingly  refused 
to  be  turned  from  her  purpose  one  inch. 

Perhaps  Mary  would  not  have  been  so  secure  in 
her  position  but  for  two  things.  Lady  Alex 
Ratrick  was  not  in  England  or  likely  to  be  for 
another  twelve  months;  and  she  had  written  to 
Jefferson  Bromley  and  got  his  promise  to  help 
her  as  far  as  was  in  his  power.  He  had,  of  course, 
only  received  Mary's  version  of  the  case,  and  from 
his  point  of  view  it  was  "  up  to  him  "  to  do  what 
he  could  for  her.  Here  was  a  girl  left  unprovided 
for  and  penniless  through  no  fault  of  her  own, 
forced  to  make  her  living,  and  with  no  special 
talent  for  any  work.  She  had  an  exceptionally 
speaking  face  and  a  supple  figure — he  was  not 
likely  to  forget  her,  for  he  thought  he  had  never 
seen  a  more  wonderful  type  of  girlhood — and  she 
thought  she  could  learn  the  work  and  would  like 
it  if  she  could  be  trained.  The  only  decent  thing 
a  man  could  do  was  to  help  her,  and  he  was  thank- 
ful that  she  was  of  such  promising  material.  He 
took  a  good  deal  of  trouble  to  explain  to  her  in 
detail  what  she  would  have  to  do,  and  offered  to 
introduce  her  to  his  own  manager  if  she  would 
come  up  to  London,  and  from  there  to  Roehamp- 
ton,  where  they  were  rehearsing  at  the  studio. 

Mary  did  not  inform  her  family  of  this  cor- 
respondence or  the  source  of  her  knowledge  with 
regard  to  the  cinema  world.  They  based  a  forlorn 
hope  of  her  failure  to  get  into  the  ' '  movies  ' '  on 
the  fact  that  she  could  know  nothing  about  the 
profession,  and  that  untrained  girls — even  with 
such  a  face — were  not  eagerly  sought  after  by 
managers,  who  had  the  stage  to  draw  upon  in 
preference.  Mary  did  not  even  tell  them  when 
or  where  she  was  going,  and,  lured  into  a  false 


65 

security,  they  awoke  one  day  to  the  unpleasant 
fact  that  after  Berkeley's  dismissal  (there  were 
tears  on  both  sides,  after  all)  she  had  packed  her 
own  belongings  and  taken  herself  off,  leaving  the 
river  cottage  half  shut  up  and  James  as  care- 
taker. Even  the  butler  did  not  know  her  destina- 
tion, but  supposed  it  was  London  as  she  had  or- 
dered a  cab  to  take  her  to  the  station  for  the 
London  train. 

11  Having  no  authority  to  stop  Miss  Mary,"  he 
said  solemnly  on  being  questioned,  "  I  didn't  care 
to  try  it  on.  If  the  lawyers  'ad  told  'er  that  it  was 
against  the  law  for  'er  to  leave,  and  she  could  be 
locked  up  for  it,  she  might  have  stayed.  But  in 
my  opinion  she  'd  have  left,  any  'ow !  ' ' 

Mary  travelled  up  to  London  third  class  with  a 
view  of  husbanding  her  resources,  and  found  it 
rather  amusing.  Being  totally  without  fear  or 
self-consciousness  she  turned  every  opportunity  to 
account,  and  asked  the  other  passengers  how  she 
should  get  to  Roehampton.  Had  she  made  the 
same  enquiry  at  Paddington  the  chances  are  that 
she  would  have  been  some  time  before  getting  a 
workable  answer  and  been  sent  by  train  out  of  her 
wTay;  but  a  quiet  mechanic  sitting  opposite  knew 
the  neighbourhood,  and  told  her  that  a  'bus  ran 
from  Hyde  Park  Corner  down  to  the  very  road 
where  the  cinema  studio  was  situated,  and  a  young 
woman  with  a  child  of  three  chimed  in,  "  Yes,  I 
know  it.  My  folks  used  to  live  that  way.  It's  out 
by  the  big  club  where  they  play  games." 

Mary  turned  to  her,  smiling,  and  stretching  a 
gloved  finger  for  the  round-eyed  child  to  clasp 
with  a  moist  hand.  "  Do  you  think  I  could  get 
rooms  there?  "  she  said.  "  I  am  going  to  do  work 
in  the  neighbourhood  and  want  somewhere  to 
live." 


66  WANDERING  FIRES 

The  young  woman  looked  dubiously  at  Mary's 
very  simple  black  gown  and  her  innocent  hat. 
They  had  been  chosen  with  intent,  but  they  could 
not  deceive  her. 

"  I  don't  know  of  any  place  as  would  suit  you," 
she  said,  "  unless  you  went  to  the  hotel." 

"  What  hotel?  ' 

"  It's  a  pub!  "  said  the  mechanic  warningly. 
"  Leastways,  it  isn't  the  sort  of  hotel  you  mean 
when  you  go  to  them,  miss."  He  smiled  a  little 
shrewdly,  and  Mary  blushed  and  then  laughed  as 
if  found  out. 

"  I  couldn't  afford  an  hotel,"  she  said,  "  even 
if  it  were  a  pub.  Can't  I  get  furnished  rooms?  ' 

"  They  might  take  lodgers  in  one  of  they  little 
villas  in  the  side  roads,"  said  the  young  woman. 
"  Real  nice  little  'ouses  they  are,  with  lace  cur- 
tains and  a  pot  o'  something  in  the  winders !  ' 

Mary's  eyes  twinkled,  but  she  controlled  the 
deep  dimple.  "  I  should  like  that!  "  she  said. 
11  I'll  go  and  ask  them.  I  should  so  love  watering 
the  thing  in  the  pot !  ' ' 

"  Ah,  I  expect  you're  used  to  a  garden,"  said 
the  woman  simply.  * '  So  am  I.  It  makes  me  fair 
sick  to  live  in  a  street.  I  must  'ave  a  winder-box 
and  a  bit  of  green  to  grow  in  it." 

Her  rather  prominent  eyes  went  to  the  window 
and  the  summer  fields  beyond  with  the  yearning 
of  a  creature  who  did  not  originally  live  in 
cramped  space  or  bear  a  sticky  child  with  moist 
hands.  But  the  mechanic  said  nothing,  though  the 
windows  did  not  distract  him  from  Mary.  He 
looked  at  her  as  if  he  detected  a  sense  of  humour 
in  her,  and  distrusted  it  like  all  his  class. 

At  Paddington  Mary  left  her  heavier  luggage 
in  the  cloak-room,  and  proceeded  across  the  Park 
with  a  small  suit-case  that  was  constantly  in  her 


WANDERING  FIRES  67 

way — and  other  people's — in  the  motor-bus.  She 
ought  to  have  had  a  pilgrim  basket  if  she  meant  to 
fend  for  herself,  but  this  had  not  yet  dawned  upon 
her.  She  found  the  next  bus  she  wanted  after  a 
long  wait  and  some  offers  of  assistance  from 
young  men  of  the  clerk  description  who  wanted  to 
look  at  her,  and,  entrusting  her  case  to  the  con- 
ductor, went  on  top  and  sat  out  many  miles  of 
suburbs  of  which  she  had  hardly  heard  the  names. 
She  had  had  no  idea  that  London  was  so  large, 
even  through  motoring  out  of  it,  but  she  was  now 
seeing  the  county  rather  than  the  city  of  that 
name.  When  at  last  the  conductor  called  her  down 
she  felt  dazed  and  jolted,  as  if  the  motion  of  the 
bus  had  got  into  her  bones ;  but  she  was  at  least  not 
hungry,  having  lunched  at  the  station  at  Padding- 
ton.  With  her  suit-case  once  more  in  her  hand, 
she  began  to  trudge  up  and  down  the  side  roads 
indicated  by  the  young  woman  in  the  train,  in  an 
unavailing  search  for  rooms  that  tried  even  her 
young  vitality.  Most  of  the  little  villas  were  hor- 
ribly offended  at  the  mere  request;  Others  ap- 
peared to  be  in  the  sole  charge  of  girls  of  four- 
teen who  could  do  nothing  but  stare  at  the  intruder 
and  say,  "  I  couldn't  tell  yer.  The  lady's  out." 

They  were  dreadful  little  houses,  even  to  the  lace 
curtains  and  the  "  something  in  a  pot  "  (generally 
an  indiarubber  plant),  because  their  uniformity 
was  so  smug  and  so  bounded  by  the  incomes  that 
had  called  them  into  existence  by  the  law  of  supply 
and  demand.  After  the  fifth  road  Mary  did  not 
know  if  they  were  alike  or  not,  good,  bad,  or  in- 
different, the  suit-case  had  become  the  load  of 
Atlas,  and  she  had  tramped  the  world.  She  set 
it  down  on  end  at  the  last  door  she  knocked  at 
haphazard,  and  sat  on  it,  for  she  could  go  no 
further. 


68  WANDERING  FIRES 

Her  summons  was  answered  by  a  round-faced 
girl  in  a  muslin  gown  to  suit  the  month  but  not 
the  climate,  who  opened  the  door  a  little  way  and 
looked  round  it  in  a  fashion  to  inform  any  desper- 
ate character  that  she  was  alone  and  an  easy  prey. 
When  she  saw  Mary  she  came  on  to  the  doorstep 
in  open  curiosity,  and  they  looked  at  each  other 
in  silent  appraisement. 

"  I'm  so  sorry,"  said  Mary,  rising  wearily, 
"  but  I  was  so  tired  I  simply  had  to  sit  down. 
This  is  the  fiftieth  road  I've  been  up  and  down  in 
search  of  rooms." 

"  Oh,  but  no  one  here  takes  paying  guests,  un- 
less it's  done  quite  privately  and  through  some 
introduction!  "  said  the  other  girl,  reddening  a 
little.  "  Can't  you  see  that  it  doesn't  look  the  sort 
of  place?  They  are  all  private  residences." 

"  It  looks  very  nice — and  clean,"  said  Mary 
gently,  her  large  eyes  on  the  green  doors  and  the 
mosaic  steps  and  the  red  and  white  fronts.  "  I  do 
wish  someone  let  lodgings !  ' ' 

"  You  couldn't  have  thought  anyone  here  let 
lodgings — there  are  no  cards  in  the  windows !  ' ' 

"  I  didn't  look.  I  just  rang  the  bell  and  asked. 
But  they  always  said  no."  She  was  again  sitting 
on  the  suit-case,  looking  covetously  past  the  lady 
of  the  house  into  the  narrow  little  hall  with  its 
cheap  prints  of  Maud  Goodman  and  its  fumed  oak 
furniture. 

"  You  do  look  tired — would  you  like  to  come  in 
and  rest  a  bit?  Perhaps  I  could  think  of  someone 
respectable  who  would  take  you  in, ' '  said  the  other 
girl. 

"May  I?  How  awf'ly  good  of  you!"  said 
Mary,  and  lifted  her  suit-case  inside  the  door  with 
an  alacrity  that  seemed  ominous  to  her  hostess. 


WANDERING  FIRES  69 

She  somehow  felt  that,  once  inside,  it  would  be 
difficult  to  dislodge  it. 

They  went  into  the  drawing-room  at  the  back  of 
the  house.  It  was  very  full  of  furniture,  and  pic- 
tures, and  books,  and  brass  things  out  of  second- 
hand shops  that  were  not  as  old  as  they  should 
have  been,  and  through  the  window  was  a  view  of 
a  narrow  strip  of  garden  with  nasturtiums  in  a 
riot  of  bloom  and  rambler  roses  and  a  band  of 
green  grass.  Mary  sank  down  into  a  corner  of 
the  fat  sofa  with  a  sigh  of  relief,  and  her  hostess 
faced  her. 

'  *  Why  do  you  want  rooms  here  so  much  ?  ' '  she 
asked  curiously.  "  You  don't  look  a  bit  like — you 
can't  be  in  a  shop?  " 

"  No,  I'm  going  to  train  for  cinema  work,"  said 
Mary,  far  less  ashamed  of  being  mistaken  for  a 
shop  assistant  than  her  hostess  had  been  in  ask- 
ing her. 

"  The  pictures!  Oh,  I  do  love  them  so!  And 
you  are  going  to  act  in  them?  Do  tell  me  about 
it!" 

Mary  had  not  much  to  tell,  but  what  she  had  she 
used  with  the  ingenuity  of  the  artist.  The  little 
house  was  a  refuge  of  cleanliness  and  newness  at 
least — it  was  almost  in  the  honeymoon  stage,  itself 
— and  she  simply  could  not  tramp  any  more  of 
those  roads.  She  saw  the  irresolution  growing 
in  her  listener's  eyes  even  while  she — partly — ex- 
plained her  position,  and  at  last  the  offer  came 
that  she  was  awaiting. 

"  I  wonder  if  George  would  mind?  My  hus- 
band is  still  abroad — in  Egypt — not  demobilised. 
I  live  here  by  myself  mostly,  as  it  is  so  expensive 
having  visitors.  I  never  took  a  P.G.,  but  I've 
often  thought  »  .  J* 


70  WANDERING  FIRES 

"  Oh,  do!  " 

"  It  would  be  so  amusing  having  someone  here 
who  was  going  in  and  out  of  the  picture  studio ! 
And  then,  it's  only  for  a  time?  ' 

* '  Oh,  a  very  little  while !  I  believe  they  move 
about  all  over  the  place,  taking  the  films,  you 
know."  Mary  did  not  add  that  where  the  studio 
was  must  be  the  permanent  headquarters  of  the 
company. 

"  I  believe  I  might — you  are  such  a  nice  girl, 
not  a  bit  like  the  ordinary  people  one  meets ! — and 
there  is  the  spare  room.  Would  you  mind  helping 
to — to  dust  a  little  sometimes?  ' 

"I'd  love  it!  "  said  Mary  untruthfully.  "  Do 
let  me  stay !  I  can  give  you  all  sorts  of  references, 
and  I'll  pay  you  two  pounds  a  week."  (She  could 
go  on  for  eight  weeks  at  least,  though  it  did  not 
leave  much  margin.  Surely  she  must  have  trained 
sufficiently  to  earn  something  in  eight  weeks!) 
"  Can  I  take  my  suit-case  up  now,  and  then  I'll  go 
round  to  the  studio  and  say  I've  come." 

And  in  this  wise  was  Mary  Trefusis  introduced 
into  the  little  household  at  Laurel  Lodge  and  the 
lives  of  Mrs.  George  Smythe  and  her  absentee 
husband.  She  never  gave  those  references  because 
Gladys  Smythe  never  asked  for  them ;  she  was  far 
too  fascinated  and  absorbed  with  her  strange 
guest  and  the  glamour  of  the  cinema  behind  the 
scenes  to  do  anything  but  drink  her  in  as  if  she 
were  new  wine. 

Mary  took  possession  of  the  spare  room  at  once, 
while  her  hostess  made  her  a  cup  of  tea,  the 
"  working  housekeeper "  (Laurel  Lodge  pre- 
ferred that  name  to  general  servant)  being  out. 
It  was  a  small  room  as  compared  to  the  one  at 
Restawhile,  and  furnished  in  the  same  clean, 
crowded  fashion  as  the  drawing-room;  but  the  new 


71 

occupant  was  delighted  with  it  because  it  was  new, 
a  different  side  of  life  to  any  she  had  seen ;  '  *  like 
keeping  house  in  a  toy-shop,"  she  thought.  Her 
weariness  left  her  with  her  success  in  finding  a 
lodging,  and  the  tea  brought  back  her  vitality.  She 
seemed  more  than  ever  a  wonderful  girl  to  Mrs. 
Smythe  when  she  came  down  again,  refreshed, 
and  rushed  off  to  the  studio  for  fear  she  should 
be  too  late  to  catch  Jefferson  Bromley. 

She  took  another  bus,  by  Mrs.  Smythe 's  direc- 
tion, and  was  swung  over  the  long  green  road, 
with  nothing  in  particular  on  either  hand,  ending 
suddenly  at  the  public-house  that  called  itself  an 
hotel  and  which  was  decorously  closed  out  of  liquor 
hours.  Mary  got  down  from  the  bus  with  the 
feeling  of  the  lost.  She  had  been  in  one  and  an- 
other for  so  long  that  they  seemed  a  sort  of  refuge. 
The  conductor  pointed  her  to  a  door  between  high 
gate-posts,  opposite  the  hotel,  and  was  swung  off 
into  infinite  distance  before  she  could  thank  him. 

The  Block  Studio  had  originally  been  a  large 
and  charming  country  house,  and  was  still  called 
The  Grange.  Nothing  was  left  of  it  but  its  shell 
and  its  old  walled  gardens — very  useful  adjuncts 
these,  for  an  outdoor  scene.  Mary  pushed  open 
the  gates  and  crossed  a  paved  court  to  the  double 
doors,  but  even  these  were  on  the  latch,  and  she 
pushed  again,  to  find  herself  suddenly  behind  the 
scenes  of  the  great  cinema  pictures  which  were 
being  shown  on  so  many  screens  in  and  about  Lon- 
don. The  hall  had  a  curiously  dismantled  appear- 
ance, though  it  was  full  of  stage  furniture  and 
hung  with  very  bad  oil-paintings  of  cinema  stars. 
A  girl  with  a  stage  face  wTas  leaning  against  a 
carved  table  talking  to  a  man  in  khaki,  and  two 
more  people  were  doing  absolutely  nothing  in  im- 
itation oak  chairs;  but  none  of  them  happened  to 


72 

have  been  in  the  cast  of  the  pictures  taken  at 
Restawhile.  The  girl  left  off  talking  to  the  man 
in  khaki  to  stare  at  Mary  with  the  shrewd  intui- 
tion that  this  was  a  "  stray  "  and  no  member  of 
the  crowd. 

"  Can  I  tell  you  anything!  "  she  said. 

"  Do  you  know  if  Mr.  Bromley  is  here?  "  Mary 
asked  in  her  turn. 

"  I'll  see."  The  girl  plunged  into  a  dark  cor- 
ridor leading  at  right  angles  from  the  hall,  and  ran 
up  a  noisy,  uncarpeted  staircase,  to  return  almost 
at  once  with  the  remark:  "  Yes,  he's  here;  you 
had  better  come  up.  Mind  the  steps — there  are 
three!" 

There  were  generally  three  steps  in  The  Grange, 
as  Mary  discovered,  leading  either  up  or  down 
to  any  destination.  She  followed  her  guide  into 
the  corridor,  where  more  girls  were  sitting  on  the 
bottom  step  of  the  old  stairs,  and  vistas  of  still 
more  were  visible  in  a  low-ceilinged  room  to  the 
left.  This,  as  Mary  afterwards  learned,  was  the 
green  room,  and  all  the  other  rooms  in  that  wing 
were  dressing-rooms.  But  her  guide  went  up  a 
winding  stair  and  along  a  gallery  above  the  hall, 
emerging  suddenly  into  the  studio  itself. 

The  studio  must  have  covered  the  space  of  a 
whole  suite,  probably  the  drawing-rooms  or  ball- 
room of  the  old  house,  with  their  ante-rooms.  But 
the  upper  floor  and  the  roof  had  been  torn  away,  to 
be  replaced  by  one  huge  glasshouse,  under  which 
ran  long  lines  and  pulleys  with  black  cloths  that 
could  be  dragged  hither  and  thither  as  the  operator 
wished  for  the  lighting  of  interiors.  For  a  minute 
Mary  stood  still,  blinking  with  her  great  receptive 
eyes.  The  rest  of  the  house,  altered  though  it  was, 
was  still  a  house.  This  was  a  workshop,  a  scaf- 
folding in  upper  air,  the  unreal  factory  for  unreal!- 


WANDERING  FIEES  73 

ties.  She  was  in  a  network  of  electric  wires  and 
great  lamps,  of  broken  portions  of  rooms  and 
startlingly  artificial  statuary. 

The  cast  had  been  rehearsing  a  big  scene  that 
morning,  and  the  stage  was  set  with  an  ante-room 
in  the  distance  where  a  supposititious  audience 
was  appearing  in  profile.  The  foreground  had  pre- 
sumably been  occupied  by  the  few  important  prin- 
cipals, but  was  now  empty  save  for  two  or  three 
stage  hands,  scene-shifters  and  the  electricians — 
very  important  and  superior  functionaries  these 
last,  in  whose  hands  the  bewildering  lines  of  lights 
became  well-trained  and  sentient  things.  In  one 
corner  stood  the  narrow,  delicate  camera  on  its 
tripod  that  she  had  seen  at  Eestawhile  but  had 
hardly  noticed  in  the  excitement  of  that  eventful 
morning.  On  further  acquaintance  it  seemed  so 
small  a  thing  to  take  the  great  "  movies  "  that 
Mary  was  inclined  to  regard  it  with  disappoint- 
ment, for  she  had  not  as  yet  seen  a  reel  and  the 
minute  pictures  with  their  perfection  of  detail. 

"  Here's  Mr.  Bromley!  "  said  the  girl  who  had 
brought  her  up. 

Mary  threaded  her  way  through  oddments  of 
scenery,  which  the  cinema  people  call  "  return 
pieces  "  because  they  are  used  both  back  and  front, 
and  caught  her  gown  on  a  treacherous  splinter  of 
wood  that  lurked  behind  an  unfinished  pillar.  As 
she  stooped  to  disentangle  herself  a  tall  man  in  his 
shirt-sleeves  appeared  from  the  back  of  an  opera- 
box,  camouflaged  like  all  the  rest  of  the  stage  prop- 
erties, and  bent  quickly  to  help  her. 

"  Let  me  do  it,"  he  said.  "  You  will  spoil  your 
gown. ' '  And  as  she  raised  her  laughing  eyes  Mary 
found  that  she  had  met  Jefferson  Bromley  again 
over  the  snagged  hem  of  her  black  skirt. 

' '  It 's  all  right, ' '  she  said,  springing  to  her  feet. 


74 

"  I  can  darn  it.  How  do  you  do !  I'm  so  glad  to 
have  caught  you."  She  shook  hands  with  him  the 
more  warmly  for  feeling  him  a  former  acquaint- 
ance, almost  a  friend,  amongst  strangers,  and  his 
eyes  looked  with  the  same  kindly  interest  at  her 
young,  beautiful  face,  a  little  flushed  with  the  ex- 
citement of  this  new  adventure.  For  the  first  time 
she  distinguished  the  colour  of  those  eyes,  and  rec- 
ognised that  they  were  blue.  She  had  thought  of 
nothing  before  save  their  kindliness. 

The  girl  who  had  acted  as  Mary's  guide  stopped 
a  few  feet  away,  and  glanced  from  one  to  the  other. 
She  was  turning  to  go,  when  Bromley  said: 
"  Thank  you,  Miss  Grey !  "  and  she  nodded  to  him 
and  left  them.  But  Mary  had  forgotten  her.  Her 
whole  attention  was  fixed  upon  the  actor,  with 
his  clean-shaven  face  and  close  brown  hair  with 
the  ripple  in  it.  She  thought  how  well-made  he 
was  without  his  coat  to  hide  the  strength  and 
breadth  of  his  figure.  A  different  build  from 
Eddie  Thome's — a  heavy-weight  rather  than  a 
light-weight,  as  she  had  noticed  before.  Why  did 
Bromley's  near  presence  bring  Thome  back  to 
her,  a  shadowy  third  to  their  intercourse?  They 
were  opposites,  and  yet  the  one  man  recalled  the 
other  to  memory  inevitably. 

"  Well,  you  have  caught  me — in  my  shirt- 
sleeves! "  Bromley  said,  laughing,  and  his  good- 
looking  face  wrinkled  under  the  paint  that  made  it 
like  a  mask.  "  Will  you  excuse  me  without  my 
coat,  Miss  Trefusis?  It  is  warm  work  here  in 
summer. ' ' 

"  I  don't  wonder!  Please  don't  apologize.  It's 
like  a  hothouse." 

It  was  indeed.  Outside  the  day  was  sunny,  but 
below  the  normal  temperature  owing  to  a  cold 
wind.  Inside  the  studio  the  sun  beating  on  the 


WANDERING  FIRES  75 

glass  was  hardly  tempered  by  open  windows,  and 
most  of  the  staff  had  discarded  their  coats  like 
Bromley.  The  Grange  was  not  one  of  the  most 
modern  studios,  in  that  it  still  worked  by  daylight 
even  for  interiors.  When  the  house  was  altered 
for  the  purpose  of  cinema  work  the  "  daylight 
studios  "  were  still  in  vogue,  and  the  result  had 
been  the  great  glasshouse.  The  disadvantage  of 
this  for  the  company  lay  in  heat  in  summer  and 
cold  in  winter  from  the  glass  roof;  but  even  in 
the  most  modern  studios  the  artificial  lighting  will 
make  the  place  as  hot  as  the  sun.  Later  on  in  her 
experience  of  cinema  work  Mary  was  to  learn 
what  the  latest  developments  in  American  lamps 
could  induce  in  the  way  of  discomfort.  Bromley 
piloted  her  through  the  broken  scenery  to  some 
chairs  left  from  the  morning's  rehearsal,  and  they 
sat  down  in  a  grateful  draught  from  the  garden 
below. 

"  I  was  so  very  sorry  for  your  news,"  he  said 
gently.  "  I  could  hardly  realise " 

"  Yes,  but  please  don't  let  us  talk  of  it,"  said 
the  girl  hastily,  almost  impatiently.  "  I  want  to 
get  on  with  life,  and  not  stand  crying  by  the  road- 
side because  I've  lost  my  bearings." 

11  That  is  very  plucky  of  you — very  like  you,  I 
should  judge.  I  know  just  how  you  feel.  Well, 
now  you  want  to  get  to  work  at  once  and  have  some 
training.  I've  spoken  to  Mr.  Block  about  you, 
and  I  want  to  introduce  you  to  him.  I  wonder  if 
he 's  still  here,  by  the  way  f ' '  He  rose  with  a  quick- 
ness of  movement  that  was  unexpected  from  his 
height  and  build,  and  suggested  stored  energy. 
Mary  watched  him  cross  the  studio  and  speak  to 
the  electrician,  and  he  was  back  at  her  side  again 
almost  before  she  could  expect  it.  Eddie  Thorne 
could  not  have  been  quicker — Eddie  Thorne  again ! 


76  WANDEEING  FIEES 

"  It's  all  right — he's  just  coming  up.  I  don't 
think  we  shall  do  much  more  this  afternoon,  but 
we  were  waiting  about  to  hear  where  rehearsal  is 
to-morrow — interior  or  outside." 

"  Where  do  you  train  newcomers — like  my- 
self? " 

4  *  In  one  of  the  rooms  downstairs — and  we  have 
a  corner  of  the  garden  to  bury  amateurs  in  when 
they  are  of  no  use  to  us !  " 

She  met  his  eyes  and  laughed,  to  the  depth  of 
that  inimitable  dimple.  "  I  shall  think  of  that 
corner  of  the  garden  all  the  time,"  she  said. 
"  You  ought  not  to  have  told  me  till  the  moment  of 
execution.  How  did  the  pictures  from  Eestawhile 
turn  out?  " 

' '  Very  well  indeed.   When  did  you  come  up  ?  " 

"  Only  to-day.  I  had  such  a  hunt  for  a  room 
near  here — and  such  luck  to  find  one !  ' ' 

"  You  ought  to  have  told  me  you  were  coming, 
and  I  would  have  helped  you."  A  look  almost  of 
distress  crossed  his  changing  face,  and  she  won- 
dered at  his  concern  for  her.  "  Are  you  sure  you 
are  with  nice  people?  " 

"  Oh,  yes — with  a  girl  whose  husband  is  still  in 
Egypt,  in  one  of  those  little  villas  in  a  road  near 
the  Club.  They  are  private  houses,  and  quite 
offended  at  the  idea  of  '  paying  guests  ' — not 
lodgers,  of  course! — but  I  took  her  by  storm — 
rushed  in  when  the  door  was  opened,  and  dumped 
down  my  suit-case  and  wouldn't  go.  She's  quite 
reconciled  to  me  now,  and  has  given  me  the  spare 
room.  She  loves  the  pictures ! — that  did  it.  You  '11 
have  to  come  and  see  me,  and  that  will  make  her 
quite  happy. ' '  Mary  spoke  with  her  usual  flow  of 
words,  happy  again  to  babble  to  someone  she  knew. 
The  ephemeral  acquaintance  with  Bromley  seemed 
quite  an  established  thing  to  her,  and  she  appro- 


WANDERING  FIRES  77 

priated  him  into  her  life  as  she  did  anyone  who 
attracted  her,  without  waiting  for  overtures.  He 
sat  and  listened,  smiling,  and  enjoying  the  vivid- 
ness of  her  changing  face.  In  his  own  mind  he 
decided  that  he  would  certainly  go  and  see  where 
she  was  housed,  to  assure  himself  of  her  safety. 
He  had  unconsciously  accepted  the  responsibility 
of  Mary  Trefusis,  as  more  reliable  people  than 
herself  were  apt  to  do. 

There  was  a  sudden  movement  amongst  the 
staff,  and  a  standing  to  attention  even  of  the  elec- 
trician and  the  operator,  who  had  been  chatting 
together.  Bromley  turned  his  head  with  the  quick- 
ness that  Mary  thought  was  the  outcome  of  his 
training,  forgetting  that  he  had  French  blood  in 
his  veins  from  a  useful  grandmother.  "  Here  is 
Mr.  Block  at  last, ' '  he  said.  * '  Will  you  come  and 
be  introduced,  Miss  Trefusis?  " 

The  girl  rose  without  the  least  self-conscious- 
ness and  followed  him  across  the  studio,  a  little 
excited,  but  certainly  not  with  the  heart-breaking 
anxiety  of  most  novices  whose  daily  bread  depends 
upon  the  next  few  minutes '  interview.  Had  it  not 
been  for  the  war,  Mary  Trefusis  would  have  bowed 
to  her  sovereign  with  the  same  free  grace  with 
which  she  approached  the  cinema  manager,  and 
the  same  absence  of  nervousness.  She  had  not 
yet  been  presented,  but  she  had  been  too  much  in 
the  limelight  of  the  social  world  from  her  short 
frocks  to  be  easily  abashed,  and  her  training  stood 
her  in  good  stead. 

Mr.  Block  was  a  large  man,  physically  at  least, 
and  he  had  no  more  coat  on  than  his  company. 
It  is  probable  that  he  felt  the  heat  of  the  studio 
even  more  than  they,  for  he  was  very  stout,  and 
the  top  of  his  bald  head  glistened  as  with  dew. 
He  was  speaking  with  great  decision  and  authority 


78  WANDEEING  FIKES 

to  the  electrician  when  Bromley  approached  with 
Mary,  and  his  quick  and  rather  prominent  eyes 
focussed  at  once  upon  the  girl  and  remained  there 
while  the  actor  introduced  her. 

* '  Mr.  Block,  this  is  the  lady  of  whom  I  spoke  to 
you.  Miss  Trefusis,  may  I  introduce  our  man- 
ager? " 

1 1  A  novice  ?  ' '  said  the  stout  man  promptly  and 
inclusively. 

Mary's  face  had  been  vividly  grave,  as  it  always 
was  when  she  was  intensely  interested.  But  the 
eagerness  of  her  expression  really  did  convey  what 
is  somewhat  obscurely  called  ' '  the  play  of  the  fea- 
tures." As  the  manager  spoke  she  smiled,  and 
then  the  eyes  and  mouth  both  lighted  up,  for  there 
was  a  glint  of  perfect  teeth  to  flash  back  the  light 
in  the  iris. 

"  Very  much  a  novice — an  ignoramus!  "  she 
said  confidently.  "  But  I  do  want  to  learn.  May 
II  " 

The  manager  was  still  looking  at  her.  He  never 
moved  his  eyes  from  her  face  indeed,  except  for 
one  sweeping  glance  over  her  figure.  And  he 
spoke  with  the  same  decision  he  had  shown  to  the 
electrician. 

"  Yes.  You  can  learn.  It  is  hard  work.  We 
keep  them  at  it  in  this  studio — eh,  Jeff?  " 

"  Yes!  "  said  Bromley,  and  there  was  a  satis- 
faction and  pelief  in  his  voice  that  was  not  ex- 
plained to  Mary  until  long  afterwards.  "  Are 
we  to  do  any  more  to-day,  Mr.  Block  ?  ' 

"  No.  Sorry  I  kept  you  all  here  for  nothing, 
but  the  light  will  not  do."  He  was  still  looking 
at  Mary,  and  he  spoke  to  her  again  as  if  out  of  his 
thought.  "  Ever  done  this  sort  of  thing  before, 
Miss  Trefusis?  " 

"  Never." 


WANDERING  FIRES  79 

"  Any  stage  experience?  " 

11  None." 

"  We  must  take  you  from  the  beginning  then. 
Just  walk  across  the  studio,  please." 

Mary  complied,  a  little  amused,  a  little  excited 
still,  and  perhaps  not  so  free  from  self -conscious- 
ness as  usual.  She  walked  straight  up  the  studio 
away  from  the  manager  and  the  stage  hands  and 
Bromley,  and  threaded  her  way  in  and  out  of  the 
broken  scenery.  The  minute  she  was  out  of  ear- 
shot Block  said  to  Bromley,  but  still  with  his  eyes 
on  the  girl,  "  Angelica!  " 

"  You  think  she  will  do?  "  I  did  not  like  to 
suggest  it  to  you,  but  the  minute  she  wrote  to  me 
I  remembered  her  appearance  and  I  hoped  it 
might  be  the  type. ' ' 

4 '  Do !  I  Ve  hunted  all  over  England  and  Ireland 
and  Scotland  and  Wales  for  her,  and  never  found 
her  till  now.  Think  I  am  likely  to  make  a  mis- 
take? " 

"  No,  I  don't.  But  she  has  no  training,  as  she 
says " 

"  I'll  train  her.  Besides,  there  is  no  training 
for  Angelica.  All  she  has  to  do  is  to  walk  in  and 
out  the  pictures  like  that,  and  look  like  that,  and 
speak  and  smile  like  that.  The  deuce  will  be  if  she 
tries  to  act  and  spoils  herself.  All  right,  Miss 
Trefusis,  that  wrill  do." 

"  Well?  "  said  Mary,  in  her  clear,  raised  voice 
as  she  came  back  to  the  group  near  the  door. 

"  Rehearsal  will  be  at  ten  to-morrow,  unless 
the  weather  changes,"  said  Block  succinctly. 
'  *  Interiors,  Jeff.  I  shall  want  you  at  twelve,  Miss 
Trefusis.  Are  you  in  the  neighbourhood?  " 

' '  Yes — in  Genista  Road,  near  the  Club. ' ' 

"  Right.  Come  round  at  twelve,  and  I'll  show 
you  what  you  will  have  to  do." 


SO  WANDERING  FIRES 

He  turned  away  as  abruptly  as  lie  had  entered 
the  studio,  and  disappeared  into  the  gloom  of  the 
old  house,  leaving  Mary  and  Bromley  gazing  at 
each  other  as  if  a  little  breathless. 

"  I  congratulate  you,  Miss  Trefusis!  "  said  the 
actor  very  kindly.  ' '  That  is  the  first  step  in  the 
right  direction.  If  Mr.  Block  takes  you  himself 
he  will  train  you  in  half  the  time,  and  besides,  it 
proves  his  interest.  I  am  so  very  glad !  ' 

He  spoke  with  characteristic  sincerity  and  en- 
couragement. Equally  characteristic  was  the 
girl's  answer,  as  she  looked  up  at  him  with  those 
wide,  empty  eyes. 

"What  fun!  " 


CHAPTER  V 

THE  Block  Film  Company  were  at  the  moment 
rehearsing  a  picture-play  written  by  Mr. 
Percy  Cunningham,  their  scenario-maker, 
and  produced  by  Block  himself.  It  was  called 
"  The  Lady  Wins,"  and  was  excellent  of  its  kind 
because  both  Cunningham  and  Mr.  Block  knew 
the  possibilities  and  limitations  of  the  cinema 
story  as  no  lay  author  could  do.  But  the  film  was 
nearly  finished,  and  the  manager  was  anxious  to 
get  straight  on  to  the  production  of  a  book  whose 
moving-picture  rights  he  had  bought  a  year  or  so 
ago,  and  of  which  Cunningham  had  prepared  a 
scenario  that  made  the  wretched  author  thirst  for 
his  blood.  It  had  been  a  very  popular  book,  a 
"  best  seller  "  on  both  sides  of  the  Atlantic,  and 
might  prove  a  gold-mine  if  properly  filmed — which 
is  by  no  means  to  say  that  it  resembled  the  original 
tale  at  all.  Unfortunately  it  was  not  easy  to  cast, 
and  one  of  the  secrets  of  Block's  success  had  been 
his  patience  and  determination  to  have  the  right 
faces  and  figures  on  the  screen  for  his  plays,  and 
the  right  atmosphere  as  well.  Much  of  the  plot 
hung  on  the  character  of  a  young  and  very  beau- 
tiful girl,  whose  part  was  not  so  much  in  its  own 
action  as  to  form  the  central  figure  round  which 
the  other  people  produced  the  drama.  Young  and 
beautiful  girls  of  the  type  of  "  Angelica  "  were 
not  at  once  to  be  found,  despite  the  professional 
beauties  on  and  off  the  stage  who  were  pretty 
much  at  Mr.  Block's  disposal,  since  he  did  not 

81 


82  WANDEEING  FIRES 

mind  paying  for  what  he  wanted.  He  was,  how- 
ever, equally  positive  that  he  would  not  pay  for 
what  he  did  not  want,  and  the  production  of 
"  Heaven's  Daughter  "  was  delayed  by  the  insig- 
nificant fact  that  the  Maimies,  and  Phyllis 's,  and 
Dulcies  who  passed  in  review  before  him  came  out 
on  the  screen  with  podgy  faces,  or  dental  smiles, 
or  lined  eyes.  There  is  but  little  make-up  beyond 
No.  5  grease-paint  allowed  in  cinema  plays,  and 
colouring  has  to  be  discounted.  Deprive  Miss 
Dulcie,  or  the  fair  Phyllis,  of  her  legitimate  effects 
behind  the  footlights,  and  the  cruel  searching  of 
the  camera  reveals  the  fact  that  she  depends  for 
expression  on  blue  eyes  and  rosy  cheeks;  or  the 
girls  who  had  the  expression  were  already  too 
worn  by  emotion  to  stand  the  test  of  the  reels. 
They  were  no  longer  young  girls  on  the  screen; 
they  showed  lines  and  sharpened  outlines.  Mr. 
Block  swept  them  aside  as  fruitless  effort,  and 
held  up  the  production  of  the  projected  master- 
piece. He  could  not  find  an  * l  Angelica. ' ' 

Into  this  impasse  stepped  Mary  Trefusis  in  her 
mourning,  with  the  condensed  vitality  of  her  breed 
and  upbringing  in  every  line  of  her  face  and  figure. 
She  was  really  a  wonderful  girl,  as  Mrs.  Smythe 
had  felt,  and  as  Jefferson  Bromley  had  felt,  and 
as  Mr.  Block  felt  top  when  she  came  straight  to 
him  across  the  studio  with  the  very  atmosphere 
he  had  been  hunting  for  twelve  months,  and  the 
careless  statement  that  she  knew  nothing  and 
wanted  to  learn.  If  she  had  only  been  walking-on 
at  a  theatre  she  would  have  been  less  impossible ; 
but,  on  the  other  hand,  she  might  have  been  more 
so.  A  girl  sometimes  learned  more  stage  tricks 
than  her  art.  He  consoled  himself  with  that,  and 
accepted  her  and  the  chance  of  success  with  the 
prompt  decision  that  usually  secured  it. 


WANDERING  FIRES  83 

Maiy  was  by  no  means  to  be  pitied  at  this  stage 
of  her  existence,  though  she  had  lost  home  and 
fortune  and  the  only  relative  of  whom  she  was 
really  fond,  with  the  exception  of  Lady  Alex. 
Lady  Alex  she  hated,  and  loved  the  more  because 
she  hated.  For  her  father  she  had  had  a  tolerant 
fondness  that  was  nearer  tenderness  than  any- 
thing she  had  experienced  as  yet.  But  even  the 
sting  of  his  sudden  death  was  mitigated  by  the 
new  experiences  crowding  into  her  life.  She  had 
good  health,  and  as  much  strength  as  goes  with 
her  breed  and  upbringing,  though  she  could  never 
compete  in  this  respect  with  the  agricultural  class, 
or  the  robuster  type  that  had  outstayed  her  in 
munitions.  It  sufficed  her,  however,  for  the  strain 
and  racket  of  her  new  work,  and  the  excitement  of 
the  position  in  which  she  found  herself  took  the 
place  of  the  "  good  time  "  which  she  had  de- 
manded as  her  inheritance  of  modern  youth  and 
beauty  and  position.  Everything  was  so  new  as 
to  be  amusing,  even  the  living  in  a  toy  house  with 
Gladys  Smythe  and  associating  with  a  totally  dif- 
erent  class  to  any  she  had  ever  known,  even  in  her 
war  work. 

A  working  day  at  the  studio  began  when  the 
light  would  allow,  since  the  company  were  depend- 
ent on  the  sun.  Sometimes  it  was  at  ten  o'clock 
in  the  morning,  and  sometimes  not  until  two  or 
three  after  midday.  Mary  went  to  The  Grange 
before  the  time  appointed  by  Block  because  she 
wanted  to  watch,  and  was  allowed  to  stand  about 
amongst  the  broken  scenery  by  reason  of  her  ac- 
quaintance with  Bromley — though  this  she  did  net 
know.  He  secured  many  privileges  for  her,  and 
safeguarded  her  so  unobtrusively  that  it  never 
reached  her  consciousness  until  she  lost  it. 

"  If  you  stand  back  here,  Miss  Trefusis,  you 


84  WANDERING  FIEES 

will  be  out  of  the  way  of  the  operator, "  he  said, 
when  she  appeared  the  morning  after  her  inter- 
view with  Block.  * '  You  must  keep  out  of  the  pic- 
ture, you  know." 

"  I  am  so  excited!    Are  you  going  to  act?  " 

"  I  hope  so."  The  cinema  lead  gave  a  curious 
twist  to  his  humorous  lips.  "  We  are  just  going 
to  begin " 

'  *  Now,  Jeff !  Now,  Jeff !  '  The  manager 's  quick 
eyes  had  seen  whither  his  leading  man  had  strayed, 
and  his  quick  voice  called  him  to  order  more 
sharply  than  usual.  "  This  is  the  scene  in  the 
ante-room  to  the  ball-room.  You  come  on  with 
Lady  Lavender  in  a  minute.  Miss  Egan! — over 
there,  please,  for  your  entrance.  Now  the  dancers 
in  the  ball-room  beyond — Miss  Grey,  you  are  danc- 
ing with  Mr.  Everard,  and  Miss  Ward  with  Mr. 
Norrys. '  * 

"  Mr.  Block!  "  Mary's  original  guide  was  Miss 
Grey,  and  she  was  under  the  disadvantage  of  wear- 
ing a  stage  ball  dress  in  the  broad  daylight, 
which  made  her  look  thin  and  rather  worn.  '  *  Are 
we  to  dance  the  fox-trot  or  the  hesitation  waltz 
here?  " 

"  Modern  dances,  eh?  "  said  Block,  turning 
quickly  at  the  suggestion.  "  Yes,  I  suppose  it's 
more  natural.  Which  of  you  can  fox-trot?  " 

* '  I  can !  ' '  Miss  Ward  spoke  up  with  confidence. 
"  So  can  Mr.  Everard.  Can  you  fox-trot,  Mr. 
Norrys?  " 

"I'm  afraid  I  can't."  Mr.  Norrys  looked 
shame-faced.  He  was  the  same  lean  youth  whose 
river  clothes  had  not  fitted  him,  and  who  had  made 
a  bad  failure  of  talking  to  Mary  at  Restawhile 
when  her  attention  was  absorbed  with  Jeff  Brom- 
ley. She  did  not  like  his  sloping  shoulders  any 
better  in  evening-dress,  but  she  was  good-natured 


WANDERING  FIRES  85 

enough  to  be  sorry  for  his  evident  chagrin  over 
the  fox-trot. 

"  H'm — can  you  teach  him,  Miss  Ward!  "  said 
Block  shortly. 

"  I'll  try."  The  girl  looked  dubious,  and  draw- 
ing her  partner  aside  began  to  show  him  a  few 
impatient  steps.  "  We'd  better  waltz — it's 
safer, ' '  Mary  heard  her  say,  and  wondered  at  the 
importance  that  seemed  to  attach  to  the  incident. 
She  did  not  realise  that  a  cinema  actor  who  cannot 
do  any  mortal  thing  has  failed  in  his  profession, 
just  as  a  journalist  who  does  not  know  the 
technique  of  the  whole  universe  has  failed  in  his. 

The  other  couple,  Ellen  Grey  and  Everard,  took 
up  their  position  at  the  back  of  the  ante-room  and 
began  to  move  across  and  across  the  open  doorway 
in  the  tortuous  fashion  of  the  new  dances,  so  that 
they  should  appear  to  be  going  round  the  ball- 
room. 

"  It  won't  do,"  said  Block,  after  a  quick  survey. 
* '  We  want  another  couple. ' ' 

"  Could  not  Miss  Egan  and  I  do  a  turn  before 
we  come  on,  as  we  have  to  enter  from  the  ante- 
room? "  Bromley  suggested. 

11  Yes,  you  might.  You  can  do  those  heathen 
shuffles,  I  suppose?  "  said  the  manager,  with  a 
glance  at  Ellen  Grey  rocking  past  the  entrance  to 
the  ball-room. 

' '  I  have  tried  most  of  the  modern  dances, ' '  said 
Bromley,  laughing  a  little.  He  put  his  arm  behind 
the  leading  lady  rather  than  round  her,  and  guided 
her  easily  in  the  confined  space  that  was  all  they 
could  use.  Miss  Egan  was  of  the  sharpened  type 
of  good  looks  very  prevalent  in  modern  comedy. 
She  was  a  good  actress  and  well  known,  and  had 
clean  features  and  dark  hair.  Mary  did  not  think 
her  so  pretty  as  May  Moon,  who  appeared  to  have 


86  WANDERING  FIEES 

loft  the  company,  but  she  approved  entirely  of 
Bromley's  dancing.  It  seemed  there  was  nothing 
he  could  not  do,  and  do  well.  She  watched  him 
pass  the  entrance  once  or  twice  and  then  lead  his 
partner  through  into  the  ante-room  with  a  natu- 
ralness that  it  was  difficult  to  realise  was  only  very 
perfect  acting. 

"  Very  tired?  "he  said  to  the  Lady  Lavender  of 
the  film,  and  Mary  still  thought  that  he  was  simply 
speaking  as  he  might  have  done  to  herself.  She 
was  rather  staggered  to  hear  Miss  Egan  reply: 
"  The  duchess  fills  her  rooms  too  full.  I  am  thank- 
ful to  get  out  of  that  crowd !  ' ' 

"  Come  and  sit  down  for  a  few  minutes." 
Bromley  moved  a  chair  a  little  nearer  the  camera 
and  suddenly  turned  to  Block.  "  Am  I  over  the 
limit?  "  he  said. 

' '  No,  my  dear  boy,  no.  Go  on.  Take  it  a  little 
faster.  They  have  got  to  go  on  dancing  behind 
you  till  the  music  stops. ' ' 

'  *  I  want  to  have  a  little  talk  with  you  about  our 
future."  Bromley  was  speaking  faster  now,  as 
he  seated  himself  beside  his  lady. 

"  Our  future!  "  Miss  Egan's  expressive  move- 
ment timed  the  words. 

"  Yes,  ours.  Don't  hold  me  off  any  longer, 
Lavender.  We  must  come  to  an  understanding. 
I  simply  can't  stand  this  any  longer.  ..." 

So  the  rehearsal  had  begun!  Mary  suddenly 
remembered  how  easily  he  had  talked  with  her  on 
the  grass  at  Bestawhile  about  the  fictitious  char- 
acters with  whom  they  had  been  playing  tennis, 
and  realised  why  Jefferson  Bromley  was  one  of 
the  best  cinema  actors  of  his  day.  He  was  never 
at  a  loss  for  dialogue  to  bring  action  naturally  into 
place,  and  his  action  was  dramatic  enough  to  tell 
its  own  story.  She  began  to  grow  absorbed  in 


WANDERING  FIRES  87 

the  mere  invention  of  the  principals  and  to  wonder 
if  she  would  ever  be  able  to  carry  on  an  extem- 
porary conversation  like  this.  The  studio  grew 
hotter  and  hotter  with  the  increasing  day,  and 
when  the  camera  was  brought  into  position  the 
work  had  already  been  strenuous.  Block  took  his 
place  behind  the  operator,  and  got  the  full  scene 
into  focus,  the  actors  started  again  from  the  be- 
ginning, and  after  a  breathless  moment  the  man- 
ager spoke ; 

"  Are  you  ready?    Go!  " 

Mary  unconsciously  clasped  her  hands  as  the 
whirring  of  the  reel  struck  on  her  ear.  She  knew, 
from  Bromley's  instruction,  that  a  mistake  meant 
many  hundreds  of  pounds,  and  that  a  picture  must 
not  be  taken  over  again  if  by  any  possibility  it 
could  be  avoided.  It  seemed  to  her  marvellous 
that  the  actors  themselves  were  not  paralysed  as 
she  had  been  at  Restawhile  by  the  knowledge  that 
each  movement  was  being  recorded  by  the  whir- 
ring demon  which  was  ticking  them  off;  yet  they 
were  going  through  the  scene  with  an  ease  and 
naturalness  that  would  by-and-bye  seem  like  life 
on  the  screen.  Each  movement  was  timed,  and 
the  speeches  seemed  to  have  been  almost  learned 
by  heart  at  rehearsal,  but  once  or  twice  Mr.  Block 
said,  "  Keep  it  up,  Jeff!  "  or  "Go  on,  Miss 
Egan!  "  and  the  dramatic  moment  was  a  little 
more  prolonged  for  the  manager's  satisfaction. 
He  knew  when  to  intensify  a  picture,  and  Bromley 
at  least  was  never  failing  to  the  demands  made 
upon  his  endurance. 

When  the  big  scene  was  over  the  operator  was 
once  more  in  requisition  for  what  is  called  a 
11  still  " — for  advertisement  purposes — the  two 
principals  moving  nearer  to  the  lens,  the  focus 
altered,  and  the  picture  taken  as  a  "  close-up," 


88  WANDERING  FIRES 

to  be  repeated  later  with  an  ordinary  camera. 
This  occupied  more  time,  and  it  was  past  twelve 
o'clock  when  Block  called:  "  Now  come  along, 
Miss  Trefusis,"  and  Mary  followed  him  out  of  the 
studio  to  his  own  room,  or  office,  where  she  was  to 
have  her  first  lesson.  She  then  found  that  she  was 
very  hot,  for  in  her  excitement  she  had  not  noticed 
that  the  temperature  of  the  studio  was  almost  un- 
bearable, though  she  had  removed  her  coat.  Most 
of  the  cast  being  in  evening-dress,  they  had  not 
felt  it  so  much,  but  Bromley,  who  had  followed  the 
manager  downstairs,  dabbed  his  painted  forehead 
free  of  moisture  with  a  silk  handkerchief. 

"  Swilling  weather,"  said  Block  dryly.  "  Send 
for  two  lemon  squashes,  Jeff.  None  for  you  till 
you've  finished,  Miss  Trefusis!  Now  walk  across 
the  room  and  take  that  book  off  the  table  and  open 
it.  Mind  your  hands!  ' 

The  chief  difficulty  of  a  novice  to  film  work  is 
with  the  arms  and  hands.  Mary  suddenly  found 
herself  embarrassed  with  her  own,  which  seemed 
to  have  become  innumerable  instead  of  the  ordi- 
nary two.  She  walked  too  quickly  and  was  called 
back;  she  moved  her  arms  like  semaphores  and 
did  not  know  what  to  do  with  her  hands  the  minute 
she  stood  still.  It  was  Bromley  who  always  came 
to  her  rescue. 

11  Make  for  some  place  in  the  room  where  you 
can  do  something,  Miss  Trefusis,"  he  advised. 
"  If  you  go  to  the  fireplace  lean  your  arm  on  the 
mantelpiece — it  will  help  you.  If  you  sit  down, 
choose  a  chair  with  arms  and  run  your  hands  alon.^ 
them.  Never  let  them  get  self-conscious  with  idle- 


ness. 


j  i 


11  I  wasn't  nearly  so  bad  when  I  was  on  the  ter- 
race at  Restawhile !  ' 

"  You  had  a  tennis-bat  in  your  hand,  and  you 


WANDERING  FIRES  89 

were  listening  to  me.  Now  come  across  the  room 
as  if  you  entered  to  meet  me — you  are  just  home 
from  school,  and  I  am  your  father,  welcoming 
you.  May  we,  Mr.  Block  I  " 

*  *  Go  along !  '  *  said  the  manager  laconically. 
Bromley  advanced  a  few  steps  easily  into  the 

middle  of  the  room,  holding  out  his  hands. 

"  Why,  my  dear  Angelica,  how  you  have 
grown!  "  he  said.  "  I  should  hardly  recognise  the 
little  girl  I  left  at  the  Convent  four  years  ago. 
—Come  up  to  me  more  slowly,  Miss  Trefusis; 
don't  rush. — Now  I  hope  you  are  going  to  be  very 
happy  in  your  new  home !  " 

As  he  held  out  his  hands  to  her  she  made  an 
instinctive  movement  to  put  her  own  into  them — 
anything  to  get  rid  of  those  hands ! — looking  up  at 
him  for  instruction.  The  hands  clung  to  his  a  little 
nervously,  like  a  child's  who  cannot  walk  alone, 
but  the  advance  was  a  wonderful  improvement  on 
the  awkwardness  of  her  movements  when  by  her- 
self. For  the  next  ten  minutes  Bromley  walked 
about  with  her,  encouraging,  prompting,  throwing 
in  a  sentence  to  carry  on  the  scene,  and  giving 
her  confidence,  though  he  was  tired  enough  with 
his  own  work  to  have  earned  a  rest;  and  Block 
watched  them  as  a  cat  does  a  mouse,  beneath  his 
bushy  eyebrows. 

"  Yes,  that's  more  like  it,"  he  said,  as  the  actor 
gently  piloted  the  girl  out  of  the  picture  to  show 
her  how  to  exit.  '  *  If  you  '11  go  on  like  that,  Miss 
Trefusis,  we  can  make  use  of  you." 

*  *  It 's  all  very  well  when  Mr.  Bromley  is  acting 
with  me,"   said  Mary,  with  terrible  frankness. 
"  But  what  am  I  to  do  when  I  have  to  move 
alone?  " 

"  Go  on  moving  as  you  did  when  he  was  there," 
said  Block  dryly. 


90  WANDERING  FIRES 

"  I  get  lost,  and  I  don't  know  where  to  go  next, 
and  I  always  fancy  that  awful  thing  clicking  at 
me  as  it  did  in  the  studio !  " 

"  You  won't  hear  tha.t  for  some  weeks  yet,"  said 
the  manager  grimly,  and  Bromley  laughed.  "  You 
are  not  fit  to  waste  films  on  yet  awhile.  Now  walk 
into  the  room  from  the  door,  and  look  round  as  you 
might  naturally  do  coming  to  a  new  home  and 
interested  in  it.  Go  and  examine  things  if  you 
like,  but  for  God's  sake  don't  jerk!  " 

"  What  did  you  do  when  you  first  got  into  the 
little  house  you  are  staying  in?  "  suggested  Brom- 
ley in  a  lower  voice.  ' '  You  were  very  interested, 
you  know — you  must  have  looked  about  the 
rooms." 

"  I  don't  think  I  did,"  said  the  enfant  terrible 
he  had  taken  in  hand.  "  I  was  much  too  interested 
in  myself  to  think  of  the  rooms,  except  that  they 
wrere  too  crowded.  I  just  sat  on  the  sofa  and 
talked." 

' '  Then  sit  on  the  sofa  and  tell  me  what  you  think 
of  this  whole  house — The  Grange." 

Mary  laughed  and  dropped  her  lithe  young  body 
on  to  the  hard  couch,  without  stiffness  or  self- 
consciousness.  "  It  must  have  been  a  nice  house 
once,"  she  said.  "  "What  was  this  room?  The 
library?  "  She  tilted  back  her  head  and  looked 
up  at  the  moulded  ceiling.  Then  her  quick  eyes 
detected  the  marks  of  bookcases  left  on  the  walls. 
"  Yes,  it  must  have  been  the  library,"  she  said, 
springing  up,  and  crossed  the  centre  space  with- 
out thought  to  run  her  hand  over  the  defacement 
of  the  paper.  "  Look  here,  Mr.  Bromley!  " 

The  two  men  nodded  at  each  other.  The  girl's 
foreshortened  face  and  throat  lifted  to  the  ceiling 
had  been  lovely,  and  her  upspring  from  the  couch 


WANDERING  FIRES  91 

was  better  than  all  Miss  Egan's  training.  If  only 
she  could  repeat  it! 

1 '  Look  here,  my  boy, ' '  Block  said  in  confidence 
to  Bromley  later.  "  We  shall  have  to  keep  her 
from  too  much  training  rather  than  too  little,  if 
she  is  to  do  any  good.  Give  her  something  to  do, 
and  leave  her  to  do  it  in  her  own  way,  and  she'll 
be  all  right.  But  she's  got  to  walk  in  and  out  of 
the  pictures,  and  not  be  taking  entrances  and 
exits." 

11  She  is  just  so  lovely  that  art  can't  improve 
on  nature, ' '  Bromley  agreed  frankly.  '  *  Of  course, 
if  she  has  to  act  in  other  parts  she  will  have  a  long 
and  difficult  training;  but  for  *  Angelica  '  I  agree 
that  she  is  better  as  she  is." 

1 '  Ah,  if  she  has  to  act — but  I  doubt  whether  she 
ever  would,"  said  the  manager  thoughtfully. 
*  *  For  Angelica  she  will  do  with  very  little  tuition. 
And  if  I  wanted  her  for  anything  else  I  should  try 
to  make  that  her  natural  pose  also." 

"  We  can't  torture  her  to  make  her  cry,  or 
tickle  her  to  make  her  laugh!  "  said  Bromley, 
laughing  himself. 

"  She'll  never  be  any  use  without  the  real  im- 
pulse. If  she  had  to  play  a  love-scene  we  should 
have  to  get  the  fellow  to  make  love  to  her  in  earn- 
est first." 

"  And  then  she  might  not  like  him!  " 

11  She  will  be  my  success  or  my  despair,"  said 
Block  with  conviction.  "  And,"  he  added  to  him- 
self, ' l  you  are  my  trump  card !  ' ' 

Mary  found  a  letter  awaiting  her  when  she  got 
home  from  rehearsal  which  had  followed  her  from 
Brown's  Hotel  to  Restawhile,  and  on  to  Laurel 
Lodge.  It  was  in  a  masculine  handwriting  that 
she  did  not  know,  but  she  was  so  interested  in  tell- 


92  WANDERING  FIRES 

ing  Mrs.  Smythe  about  her  morning's  experience 
that  she  sat  with  it  in  her  hand,  unopened,  until 
later  in  the  afternoon.  Gladys  Smythe  was  a  de- 
lightful audience,  because  she  lived  and  breathed 
and  drank  in  Mary  from  the  moment  the  girl  en- 
tered the  house,  and  Mary  talked  to  her  eyes  and 
her  unspoken  questions  and  could  well  do  without 
masculine  correspondence.  When  she  did  open 
the  letter  indeed,  she  was  rather  puzzled  to  re- 
member who  Phillip  Durham  might  be — it  was 
signed  Phillip  Durham — until  he  referred  directly 
to  her  neighbourly  action  in  giving  him  a  lift  from 
Paddington  station.  Then  she  remembered,  and 
thought  what  a  long  time  ago  it  seemed,  and  how 
little  it  mattered  compared  with  her  absorbing  ad- 
ventures of  to-day,  and  she  wondered  why  he  had 
written  at  all.  Durham  did  not  ask  to  see  her 
again — he  only  said  he  should  always  look  forward 
to  the  chance,  and  he  did  not  believe  in  lives  touch- 
ing like  the  circles  on  water  and  fading  entirely 
away  from  each  other.  Was  she  a  believer  in 
destiny?  He  was  a  bit  of  a  fatalist  himself. 
"  Even  ships  that  pass  in  the  night  may  hail  each 
other  in  passing.  I  have  sent  up  a  signal.  .  .  ." 

Mary's  actions  with  regard  to  men  were  gen- 
erally oblique.  They  resembled  a  game'  at  bil- 
liards, for  if  she  struck  one  ball  she  cannoned  off 
on  to  another.  Durham's  letter  had  the  effect 
upon  her  of  causing  her  to  write  to  Eddie  Thorne 
instead  of  answering  it.  She  had  heard  from 
Thorne  at  the  time  of  her  father's  death  but  not 
since,  and  he  knew  nothing  of  her  subsequent  pro- 
ceedings. It  had  not  been  the  conventional  letter 
of  condolence  because  Eddie  was  too  warm-hearted 
for  that ;  he  lived  very  much  upon  impulse,  and  his 
impulses  were  generally  kindly  ones.  Mary  had 
not  written  again  because  she  was  subtly  aware 


WANDERING  FIRES  93 

that  he  would  not  be  entirely  in  favour  of  her 
taking  her  own  loved  way  and  leaving  the  boun- 
daries of  her  home  and  family.  They  were  not 
very  safe  boundaries  because  she  had  always  had 
a  way  of  overstepping  them ;  but  at  least  they  were 
there,  and  now  there  were  none  at  all.  According 
to  her  creed,  Eddie  ought  to  have  backed  her  up 
whatever  her  waywardness  because  he  was  her 
pal ;  but  her  last  meeting  with  him  had  revealed  to 
her  disgusted  surprise  that  he  could  be  quite  de- 
cided in  differing  from  her — about  Major  Durham, 
for  instance.  She  remembered  with  little  set  teeth 
and  a  fine  smile  that  she  had  never  told  him  her 
further  adventures  of  the  motor-car  and  the  Stores 
because  she  had  been  summoned  to  her  father's 
death-bed  in  place  of  lunching  with  him  at  the 
Bath.  It  would  be  soothing  to  tell  Eddie  of  these 
incidents,  as  well  as  her  enterprise  in  going  into 
cinema  work,  and  it  was  only  decent  of  him  to  come 
and  see  her  and  say  good-bye  before  she  went  to 
Dartmoor  with  the  company,  as  she  eventually 
meant  to  do.  Mary  enjoyed  the  writing  of  that 
letter,  in  the  which  she  bragged  a  little  of  her  in- 
dependence in  starting  life  against  the  wishes  of 
her  family,  and  her  success  in  being  taken  on  by  a 
good  firm  without  any  help.  That  it  was  not  in- 
tolerable in  its  egotism  was  simply  due  to  the  fact 
that  it  was  written  by  Mary  and  breathed  Mary 
throughout,  vital,  vivid,  mad  with  the  joy  of  living 
and  the  excitement  of  new  action. 
Thorne  replied  characteristically. 

"  DEAR  OLD  THING, 

"  Your  letter  was  quite  a  shock.  Most  awfully 
sorry  for  your  bad  news,  and  think  you  are  a 
real  plucked  'un  to  go  in  for  work.  Wish  it  wasn  't 
necessary  though.  What  are  all  your  families 


94  WANDERING  FIEES 

doing  to  let  you  I  I  will  give  you  my  opinion  when 
we  meet,  but  you  are  only  stretching  my  leg  as 
you  are  much  too  clever  to  want  advice  from  me. 
I  am  just  back  from  Henley.  Stayed  with  my 
sailor  brother,  and  had  a  couple  of  nice  days.  I 
expect  to  be  in  London  the  week  after  next.  I 
wonder  if  your  company  will  be  there  then?  If  so 
we  might  have  some  lunch  or  dinner  together.  I 
enclose  you  some  tickets  for  Roehampton.  I  don't 
know  whether  you  will  care  for  them — if  not,  tear 
them  up.  But  I  know  you  are  near  by,  and  per- 
haps you  would  like  to  have  a  look  at  the  polo 
there.  I  expect  they  are  still  playing,  and  you 
get  some  very  nice  tea  there.  The  Club  is  open 
on  Sundays,  but  no  polo.  Hope  you  are  fit  and 
well.  Best  of  luck. 

"  Yours  ever, 

"  E.  THOKNE." 

The  letter  was  written  from  Upcott,  his  father 's 
place.  Mary  promptly  wrote  back  demanding  his 
time  and  his  personal  attendance  on  her  the  minute 
he  reached  London,  and  then  took  Mrs.  Smythe  to 
the  Club  with  the  passes  he  had  sent.  They  were 
too  late  for  the  polo  after  all,  for  the  last  Satur- 
day's match  had  been  the  last;  but  the  "  nice  tea  >: 
recommended  by  Thome  was  very  enjoyable  in  the 
walled  garden  of  the  Club,  where  the  frilled  beau- 
ties of  pink  hollyhocks  and  the  pentstemons  were 
arranged  in  masses  of  colour  against  the  old  brick- 
work as  if  flung  there  for  an  artist's  benefit. 
Gladys  Smythe  enjoyed  it  all  so  genuinely  that 
Mary's  own  capacity,  never  a  mean  quality,  was 
doubled. 

' '  H  'm !  "  she  remarked,  tilting  her  chair  back 
to  survey  the  soft,  sunshiny  prospect  of  terrace 
and  rambler  roses  and  old  stone  flags,  "  I  quite 


WANDERING  FIRES  95 

see  why  Eddie  is  a  member  of  this  Club— plenty  of 
shady  corners  and  dark  places  to  give  him  a 
chance!  "  And  she  laughed  .carelessly  in  the 
sunny  afternoon,  her  lazy  child's  eyes  on  the  de- 
licious blush  of  the  hollyhocks  and  the  poppy-bed, 
where  a  great  tabby  cat  was  sunning  himself  also. 

"  That  is  one  of  your  friends  from  your  old 
life?  "  said  Mrs.  Smythe  jealously.  She  would 
fain  have  absorbed  Mary  into  the  cinema  world 
and  her  own  adoration  and  blotted  out  the  rival 
claims  of  a  past  in  which  she  had  no  share. 

"  He's  the  man  who  sent  me  the  passes — Mr. 
Thome." 

11  Is  he  very  fascinating?  More  so  than  Mr. 
Bromley?  " 

Mary  tilted  her  chair  back  an  inch  further,  to 
the  danger  of  her  equilibrium,  and  looked  up  at  the 
fleecy  sky  and  the  flight  of  a  bird  going  west. 
"  Eddie  is  not  particularly  fascinating  that  I 
know  of,"  she  said  musingly.  "  I  never  thought 
about  it.  He's  the  best  pal  I  ever  struck  and  the 
best  companion.  He's  just — Eddie  Thome." 

"  Is  he  very  good-looking?  As  good-looking  as 
Mr.  Bromley?  " 

"  Eddie  good-looking?  I  don't  know.  I  like  his 
face  too  much  to  know.  He 's  so  alive !  ' ' 

"  Clever?  " 

"  Only  as  Satan  is."  Mary  laughed.  "  Eddie's 
a  bit  of  a  nib,  you  know !  ' ' 

"  Mr.  Bromley  is  clever.  Look  how  wonder- 
fully he  sketches.  I  think  he  can  do  anything!  ' 

11  I  don't  think  Eddie  can  do  anything — except 
play  cricket  and  sit  a  horse.  He  told  me  once  that 
he  did  not  care  to  do  anything  unless  he  couldn't 
be  beaten  at  it.  He's  at  the  top  of  the  tree  in 
what  he  does  do — even  in  flirting!  ' 

"  You  can't  like  him  as  well  as  Mr.  Bromley!  " 


96  WANDERING  FIRES 

Mary 's  chair  came  to  the  ground  and  stood  level. 
She  sat  up  and  looked  at  Gladys  Smythe  as  if  she 
almost  resented  her. 

11  You  can't  compare  them,"  was  all  she  said; 
but  little  Mrs.  Smythe  was  quite  satisfied.  She 
construed  it  as  being  entirely  in  Jefferson  Brom- 
ley's favour. 

The  actor  had  established  himself  as  a  friend  at 
Laurel  Lodge,  and  was  on  a  footing  of  easy  inti- 
macy there.  He  would  never  misuse  it,  and  he  was 
welcomed  by  both  girls  as  if  he  were  a  large  and 
kindly  brother  to  take  care  of  them.  He  often 
called  for  Mary  on  his  way  to  the  studio — he  had 
rooms  in  Roehampton,  nearer  to  the  Lane — and 
sometimes  he  brought  her  home  when  the  work 
was  over.  She  did  not  miss  the  safety  of  her 
former  circumstances  while  Bromley  thrust  his 
broad  shoulders  between  her  and  the  world,  and 
she  accepted  the  comfortable  defence  from  behind 
which  she  boasted  of  being  a  working  girl.  The 
work,  like  everything  else,  was  a  game.  Mary 
Trefusis  was-  still  playing  at  life. 

But  the  studio  and  the  people  in  it,  and  Mrs. 
Smythe  and  her  tiny  house,  had  all  become  far 
more  real  to  her  than  her  surroundings  before  her 
father's  death  by  the  time  that  Thorne  was  in 
London  again  and  proposed  coming  down  to  see 
her.  Mary  could  not  lunch  with  him  as  he  sug- 
gested, owing  to  her  work;  but  he  came  down  in 
the  afternoon  and  found  her  coolly  waiting  on 
the  doorstep  to  be  taken  to  tea  at  the  Club,  and 
arrange  other  engagements  between  them  as  she 
could.  Eddie  had  come  in  a  taxi,  and  before  he 
could  get  out  of  it  Mary  was  at  the  door. 

"  I'll  get  in,"  she  said,  suiting  the  action  to  the 
word  even  as  he  tried  to  pass  her  and  hold  the  door 
open.  "  It's  too  hot  for  words,  and  you  can  drive 


WANDERING  FIRES  97 

me  up  to  the  Club.  We've  been  sweating  at  it  all 
the  morning.  Eddie !  did  you  ever  think  I  should 
be  a  genuine  working  girl?  " 

She  had  both  her  hands  in  his,  and  was  sitting 
close  to  him  in  the  cab,  her  beautiful  speaking  face 
raised  to  his  intent  eyes.  Thorne  did  not  only  look 
at  people,  he  appeared  to  be  looking  into  them  at 
times.  He  was  frowning  and  smiling  together  in 
his  own  characteristic  fashion,  and  he  seemed  to 
find  something  in  Mary's  face  that  dissatisfied 
him.  The  work  had  told  on  her,  and  she  was  paler 
than  she  had  been  when  he  last  saw  her  in  London, 
though  she  never  had  much  colour. 

"  What  have  you  been  doing  to  yourself, 
Molly?  "  he  said.  "  You  haven't  been  fretting, 
have  you?  " 

11  No !  "  She  shook  her  head  and  smiled  at  him. 
"  I'm  afraid  I  haven't — much.  About  father,  you 
mean?  I  do  miss  him,  of  course,  but  it  has  all  been 
so  exciting.  I'm  getting  right  into  the  swing  of  it, 
and  I  am  beginning  to  like  the  job." 

"  Don't  overdo  it,"  Thorne  said  very  kindly. 
11  You  oughtn't  to  look  like  this." 

11  How?  " 

"  Like  this !  "  he  repeated,  with  the  devil's  own 
smile  beginning  to  grow  in  his  eyes,  and  he  touched 
her  white  cheek  with  his  finger.  Mary's  lips 
parted  in  a  little  laugh  and  showed  the  deep  dim- 
ple. Eddie's  impertinences  always  fell  harmless 
before  her  derision,  and  she  escaped  danger  be- 
cause she  never  admitted  it. 

"I'm  getting  the  regular  cinema  look,"  she  said 
carelessly.  "  You  must  go  and  see  all  the  pictures 
I'm  in  when  they  are  released,  Eddie.  You'll  be 
proud  to  know  me  one  day,  when  I'm  a  star!  " 

"I'm  always  proud  to  know  you." 

There  was  something  a  little  too  serious  about 


98  WANDERING  FIEES 

Eddie  to-day.  He  declined  to  be  drawn  into  re- 
crimination, though  she  felt  his  disapproval 
through  the  mask  of  his  good  humour,  and  chafed 
to  rouse  him  to  open  retort. 

"  Eddie,  do  you  remember  that  day  when  I  was 
to  have  lunched  with  you  at  the  Bath?  The  day 
poor  father  was  taken  so  ill  and  I  was  telegraphed 
for?  " 

"  Yes." 

* '  I  had  two  adventures  that  morning.  I  meant 
to  have  told  you  at  lunch.  I  got  into  a  car  at  the 
Corner  because  I  couldn't  get  a  cab,  and  the  man 
drove  me  to  the  Stores. ' ' 

"  Was  that  the  adventure?  " 

"  Don't  be  a  garden  ass.  He  was  rather  nice — 
not  very  young — and  he  told  me  that  I  should  not 
have  driven  with  him  if  I  had  thought  it  was  quite 
all  right.  I  wonder !  >:  The  great  clear  eyes  held  a 
demon  of  speculation. 

' '  Molly,  you  are  asking  for  trouble !  ' ' 

* '  And  then  he  asked  me  who  I  was  lunching  with 
— at  least,  he  wangled  for  it." 

"  Did  you  tell  him?  "  said  Thome  quickly. 
There  never  was  any  knowing  what  Mary  would 
do. 

"  I  said  it  didn't  matter — it  was  only  my  hus- 
band! " 

Thorne  suddenly  laughed.  His  momentary  se- 
riousness gave  way  to  the  devil's  mirth  again,  and 
he  held  Mary's  hands  a  little  tighter. 

"  Would  you  like  it?  "  he  said. 

"  My  dear  boy,  I'd  as  soon  marry  a  weather- 
cock! " 

He  was  instantly  huffed.  And  indeed  a  chance 
truth  was  apt  to  stab  him  much  deeper  than  it 
would  a  more  sluggish  nature.  Eddie  was  as 


WANDERING  FIRES  99 

highly-strung  as  a  racehorse,  and  as  vulnerable  as 
a  snake  that  has  cast  its  skin. 

' '  Thank  you !  "  he  said  shortly,  and  dropped  the 
girl's  hands  to  open  the  door,  for  the  cab  had 
paused  inside  the  entrance  to  the  Club.  They  got 
out  and  left  it  to  wait,  walking  on  to  the  Club-house 
and  through  the  building  to  the  garden  beyond. 
The  little  tables  along  the  verandah  were  all  full, 
though  it  was  out  of  the  season,  and  they  had  to 
find  one  in  the  walled  garden  beyond,  where  Mary 
had  sat  with  Gladys  Smythe.  She  preferred  it  to 
the  crowd,  for  she  wanted  to  talk.  It  was  satis- 
factory to  see  Thorne  a  little  ruffled,  and  she  went 
on  with  her  reminiscences  as  they  sat  down. 

"  Then  I  went  to  the  jewellery  department  of 
the  Stores  about  something,  and  there  was  a  hope- 
less mug  there  buying  gauds  for  his  fancy  girl. 
So  I  advised  him  what  to  get  her  for  her  muff — 
rather  a  pretty  chain — and  he  followed  me  down 
in  the  lift,  and  got  me  a  cab,  and  said  he  shouldn't 
part  from  the  chain  after  all,  and  looked  exactly 
like  a  slab  of  soft  soap.  How's  that  for  a  morn- 
ing's work?  " 

"  Well,  I  don't  admire  your  taste!  "  said  Eddie 
with  his  broadest  accent  and  most  Eton  drawl. 
He  had  an  atrocious  mode  of  speech  when  it  suited 
him,  and  he  generally  intensified  it  when  annoyed. 
And  yet  Mary  was  suddenly  aware  that  for  some 
weeks  she  had  been  associating  with  men  and 
women  who  belonged  to  a  different  social  world — 
men  who  had  not  been  to  public  schools,  and  who 
were  not  gentlemen  in  the  sense  that  Thorne  was  a 
gentleman.  Perhaps  they  were  better  men.  She 
told  herself  fiercely  and  passionately  that  they 
were  better  men  than  the  one  before  her,  well- 
dressed,  well-groomed,  the  smart,  clean  man  of  the 


100  WANDERING  FIRES 

world  though  he  was,  and — *  *  a  bit  of  a  nib !  '  She 
almost  hated  Eddie  Thome  for  bringing  back  a 
whiff  of  the  world  she  had  so  carelessly  flung  aside, 
and  making  her  vaguely  discomfited  for  the  dif- 
ference in  the  cinema  people.  She  looked  away 
from  him,  up  into  the  shredded  clouds  of  the  sum- 
mer sky,  with  eyes  full  of  discontent  for  earth,  and 
something  pulsed  up  there  like  a  hovering  bird, 
far  away  in  the  blue  and  white. 

"  There's  an  aeroplane,"  she  said  idly.  "  I 
wish  I  could  fly.  It  must  be  so  grand  to  get  out  of 
the  world  sometimes!  " 

"  I  don't,"  said  Thome  frankly.  "  I  am  quite 
contented  with  the  world — and  I  shall  never  fly 
because  it  makes  me  sick  to  look  down  from  a 
height." 

"  Poor  thing!  " 

"  Oh,  be  as  scornful  as  you  like,  Molly.  But  I 
shan't  offer  to  fly  away  with  you  all  the  same." 

"  I  haven't  asked  you.  You  would  be  sure  to  be 
shocked  if  I  hadn  't  been  properly  introduced  to  the 
pilot !  We  came  up  against  this  before,  that  night 
at  Brown's  when  I  told  you  about  Major  Durham. 
(He's  written  to  me,  by  the  way!)  And  you  are 
the  last  person  who  ought  to  talk  to  me.  I  only 
want  to  amuse  myself,  but  your  adventures  always 
have  a  second  chapter,  Eddie — '  to  be  continued  in 
our  next  ' !  I  hate  a  man  who  says  yes  for  himself 
and  no  for  other  people !  ' ' 

Her  angry  speech  had  the  misfortune  of  having 
blundered  into  truth.  She  knew  Thome  very 
slightly  after  all,  but  Mary's  instinct  was  very 
shrewd  and  very  true.  It  happened  that  at  the 
very  moment  of  her  accusation  she  slung  herself 
round  in  her  chair  to  look  after  the  flickering  aero- 
plane, turning  her  shoulder  to  her  companion  in- 
tentionally; and  a  woman  with  level-lidded  eyes 


WANDERING  FIRES  101 

at  the  next  table  met  Thome's  glance  across  the 
grass,  as  she  had  been  trying  to  do  for  some 
minutes.  She  was  not  a  young  woman,  or  very 
good-looking,  but  she  had  experience.  In  an  in- 
stant Eddie's  own  eyes  were  considerably  darker 
than  even  Nature  had  made  them,  and  they  met 
and  held  those  under  the  level  lids.  His  face  lit 
up  with  the  flame  of  wickedness  that  seemed  al- 
ways at  his  elbow  to  cast  a  glow  upon  him,  and  if 
Mary  had  not  been  there  an  introduction  would 
have  followed,  somehow,  after  the  methods  of  the 
male  animal.  But  Mary  was  there;  and  he  was 
very  moral  for  Mary. 

"  You  are  not  a  man,  Molly,"  he  said  reprov- 
ingly, just  as  he  had  said  it  at  Brown's  Hotel, 
"  and  it  is  no  use  thinking  you  can  do  what  we  do." 
Then  he  leaned  forward  and  touched  her  cheek 
with  the  evening  paper  he  had  bought  on  the  way 
down.  "  The  nape  of  your  neck  is  very  pretty 
where  the  hair  grows  in  rings,"  he  said,  "  but 
your  face  is  prettier  still.  Turn  round  and  let  me 
look  at  you  while  I  can,  and  don't  be  so  ratty !  " 

"  You  are  a  dog  in  the  manger,"  said  Mary, 
with  brutal  truth.  * '  You  would  like  to  shut  us  all 
up  in  harems  whether  you  were  the  Sultan  or  not." 
She  turned  round,  however,  and  gave  him  the  face 
he  coolly  praised.  And  indeed  he  said  to  himself, 
"  You  are  the  loveliest  thing  I  ever  saw!  "  with  a 
certain  regret,  because  he  knew  that  she  was  un- 
obtainable— far  more  so  than  the  woman  at  the 
next  table — and  Eddie's  pulses  were  never  quite 
steady  before  beauty.  Mary's  pale  face  had 
flushed  with  a  mixture  of  emotions,  and  her  eyes 
were  like  a  thunder-storm.  He  was  making  her 
half  dissatisfied  with  the  life  she  had  chosen,  and 
then  attacking  her  vaunted  liberty,  and  she  had 
nothing  on  which  to  fall  back. 


102  WANDERING  FIRES 

"  Come  for  a  walk  round  the  grounds,"  he  said 
abruptly.  "  If  you  have  finished  tea?  " 

"Yes.    Can  I  smoke?" 

He  lit  a  cigarette,  hesitated  a  moment  for  chance 
onlookers,  and  then  put  it  gently  between  her  lips. 
In  the  surprise  of  the  moment  she  accepted  it, 
not  recognising  the  encouragement  to  a  man  of 
Thome's  stamp,  or  that  already  some  of  her  de- 
fences were  down  by  her  own  boast  of  herself  as  a 
"  working  girl."  Mary's  mind,  by  no  means  ig- 
norant, was  still  so  clean  as  to  make  Eddie's  in- 
comprehensible to  her.  She  thought,  after  a 
minute's  consideration,  that  he  had  been  rather 
impertinent,  and  liked  him  none  the  less.  It  car- 
ried out  her  contention  that  he  allowed  himself  too 
much  liberty,  and  her  too  little. 

The  woman  at  the  next  table  watched  beneath 
her  level  lids,  and  comprehended. 

'  *  I  know  why  you  belong  to  this  Club,  Eddie, ' ' 
Mary  said,  as  they  strolled  through  the  scrolled 
iron  gates  and  along  the  path  under  the  high  wall. 
*  *  I  said  so  to  the  girl  I  'm  living  with  when  we  had 
tea  here — it's  because  of  the  dark  corners!  " 

He  did  not  answer,  but  he  heard  only  too  well 
what  she  said.  His  eyes  were  on  the  sunny  golf- 
course,  where  two  men  were  halving  the  last  hole 
in  a  close  finish.  In  a  few  minutes  they  would  put 
up  their  clubs  and  go  in  to  tea  and  the  place  would 
be  deserted.  Thorne  strolled  on  by  Mary's  side 
through  a  bit  of  shrubbery  and  out  on  to  the  course 
and  under  some  great  trees  that  bordered  it,  and 
his  emotions  were  quite  possibly  divided  between 
the  level-lidded  woman  and  Mary  Trefusis,  with 
a  bias  towards  Mary  because  she  was  nearest  at 
hand  though  less  vulnerable. 

"  Molly,  how  long  are  you  in  town?  " 

"  I  don't  know.    The  company  go  up  to  Dart- 


WANDERING  FIRES  103 

moor  at  the  end  of  the  month,  but  I  may  be  here 
longer  to  train.  How  long  are  you  up  for?  " 

For  the  first  time  it  struck  her  as  a  little  odd 
that  he  should  be  in  London  in  the  dead  season. 
He  ought  to  have  been  in  a  dozen  other  places — in 
Scotland,  at  some  country-house  party,  yachting, 
anywhere  that  idle  men  go  when  unhampered  by 
a  profession.  He  could  not  yet  be  playing  cricket 
on  account  of  his  health,  and  perhaps  for  the  same 
reason  he  could  not  stand  long  days  with  the  guns. 
A  sudden  memory  of  the  tale  of  that  Russian 
dancer  pricked  her  mind;  but  she  glanced  at  his 
thin,  hard  face  and  did  not  ask.  When  it  came 
to  the  point  few  people  asked  questions  of  Eddie 
Thome. 

"  I  shall  be  in  town  a  week  or  so,"  he  said. 
"  You  can  come  and  dine  somewhere  one  evening, 
of  course!  How  are  you  managing — do  you  get 
any  pay  during  your  training?  '  He  slipped  his 
hand  into  her  arm  with  a  kindly  little  pressure. 
"  You  don't  mind  my  asking?  " 

* '  Not  a  bit. ' '  Eddie  was  acting  like  a  pal  again. 
She  forgot  the  cigarette  even  now  in  her  mouth. 
"  I  had  about  twenty  pounds  left  of  my  allowance 
and  from  some  things  I  sold.  If  the  worst  comes 
to  the  worst  I  must  pawn  my  watch.  I've  never 
pawned  anything — how  does  one  do  it?  "  Her 
cheek  was  suddenly  tucked  into  the  dimple,  and 
the  rollicking  light  of  adventure  came  back  to  her 
face.  "  I  suppose  I  shall  just  scrape  through.  I 
get  paid  when  we  go  to  Dartmoor." 

"  Don't  be  silly."  He  spoke  very  decisively. 
"  Of  course  you  can't  go  about  without  any  money. 
Look  here — you  must  let  me  lend  you  some.  Yes, 
you  must."  The  muscular  hand  tightened  on  her 
arm.  "  I'm  going  to  give  you  forty  pounds."  He 
took  a  pocket-book  from  his  coat  and  coolly 


104  WANDERING  FIRES 

counted  out  some  notes  which  he  must  have 
brought  down  for  the  purpose.  "  Got  anywhere 
to  put  them?  "  he  said. 

1 1  I  say,  I  can 't !  "  She  looked  at  him  with  those 
frank,  unclouded  eyes  that  only  wanted  to  take  a 
hint  from  him.  It  seemed  a  natural  thing  to  lend 
money  to  a  pal — she  would  have  done  the  same 
herself  for  another  girl,  or  even  a  man,  had  the 
positions  been  reversed.  But  she  had  a  feeling, 
younger  than  most  of  Mary's  emotions,  that  he 
might  himself  condemn  her  for  accepting  it  even 
while  he  offered,  and  she  almost  asked  him  what 
she  ought  to  do. 

"  You've  simply  got  to  take  it,"  said  Thome, 
and  his  voice  from  being  decisive  had  grown  coax- 
ing. "  Now  don't  be  childish — there's  a  dear. 
Put  it  away  and  don't  think  any  more  about  it. 
Only  don't  lose  it!  '  He  laughed  a  little  as  Mary 
slipped  the  notes  into  the  front  of  her  black  gown. 
"  You  are  much  too  pretty  to  be  hard  up,  espe- 
cially with  this  crowd  you've  got  into.  What's 
become  of  that  tall  girl  who  played  the  heroine 
at  Restawhile  ?  Is  she  still  with  you  ?  ' ' 

"  No,  and  I've  always  forgotten  to  ask  about 
her.  I  think  she  wasn't  suited  to  this  picture. 
An  awful  lot  depends  on  the  casting  of  a  movie." 

Thome  turned  and  looked  at  her  deliberately. 
Perhaps  he  was  wondering  how  she  would  look  on 
the  screen,  and  whether  she  were  not  suited  to 
most  pictures.  The  low,  hazy  light  lay  warm  upon 
her  breast  and  her  slight  black  figure,  and  that 
pale,  vivid  face  was  none  the  less  fair  for  its 
pallor.  The  golfers  had  gone  on  before  them 
across  the  polo  ground — they  could  see  the  two 
pairs  of  knickerbockers  vanishing  in  the  direction 
of  the  garden  as  they  turned  also  and  sauntered 
along  in  their  wake. 


WANDERING  FIRES  105 

"  I  shall  have  to  get  back,"  Thome  said,  glanc- 
ing at  the  watch  on  his  wrist.  "  I  have  promised 
to  play  poker  with  some  men  to-night,  as  you 
wouldn't  come  and  dine." 

11  You  didn't  ask  me — it  was  lunch,  and  I 
couldn't  get  off.  Where  are  you  dining?  ' 

1 '  Oh,  anywhere !  ' '  He  spoke  so  carelessly  that 
she  instantly  suspected  an  engagement  and  sup- 
pressed a  smile.  The  indifference  of  his  tone  had 
been  almost  brusque — a  little  overdone. 

"  I  hope  that  waiting  taxi  won't  ruin  you,"  she 
said.  "  I  have  grown  awfully  economical  since  I 
began  to  depend  on  myself — you  wouldn't  know 
me.  I  find  myself  picking  up  the  hairpins  off  the 
floor  for  fear  I  should  lose  them!  ' 

'  *  I  say,  Molly,  I  hate  that  for  you !  ' ' 

They  had  reached  the  little  piece  of  shrubbery 
again,  and  a  minute  later  would  emerge  on  the 
open  garden  path.  Thorne  stopped  and  took  hold 
of  the  girl  by  her  arms,  looking  down  at  her  with 
that  half-smiling,  frowning  look.  The  idea  of  her 
poor  little  economies  after  the  careless  life  she 
had  led  did  really  touch  him — *  *  roughed  him  up, ' ' 
he  would  have  said — and  his  feelings,  always  too 
near  the  surface,  quickened  at  her  unconscious 
pathos.  Eddie's  impulses  again!  Before  Mary 
could  move  or  draw  back  he  had  stooped  a  little 
and  kissed  her,  in  the  shadow  of  the  trees.  His 
lips  began  with  a  gentle  touch  that  suddenly  be- 
came warmer  for  a  long  breathless  moment. 

"  Good-bye,  dear  little  pal!  "  he  said. 

But  the  girl  gave  a  little  strangled  cry  like  a 
child  lost  in  the  dark. 

"  Oh,  Eddie,  why  did  you  do  that?  "  she  said 
resentfully.  "  Why  did  you  do  that?  '  Into  her 
empty  eyes  had  come  the  faint  dawn  of  an  expres- 
sion, the  far-off  herald  of  experience.  It  made 


106  WANDERING  FIEES 

them  a  woman's  eyes,  and  lie  would  fain  have  kept 
them  so,  but  it  faded  even  as  he  looked  at  her. 

"  Why,  you  didn't  mind,  did  you?  "  he  said, 
with  a  certain  dragging  fondness  in  the  words 
that  he  had  never  used  to  her  yet. 

But  Mary  was  herself  again.  "  I  suppose  I'm 
about  the  fifth  girl  you've  kissed  to-day,"  she  said 
nonchalantly.  "  It's  simply  silly.  I  don't  over- 
estimate it,  anyhow."  And  she  walked  out  into 
the  sunlight  and  the  safe  garden  path  with  an  un- 
clouded face  and  a  horrible  feeling  that  he  would 
never  be  quite  the  same  to  her  again.  Of  course 
she  had  known  that  he  was  a  fast  man — *  *  a  bit  of 
a  nib !  ' ' — that  was  the  reason  she  had  insisted  on 
making  his  acquaintance  in  the  first  instance.  But 
Mary,  like  all  modern  girls,  was  nothing  but  a 
naughty  child,  and  no  more  a  goddess  of  wisdom 
than  her  grandmother.  She  insisted  on  opening 
the  lid  of  the  jack-in-the-box  to  see  the  bogey  jump 
up,  and  when  he  came  she  was  half  inclined  to 
shriek  and  run. 

As  Thome  walked  with  her  through  the  Club- 
house to  find  the  patient  cab,  two  men  in  the  card- 
room  looked  through  the  open  door  and  recognised 
him. 

"  That's  Thorne  of  Upcott,"  one  of  them  said, 
as  he  cut.  "  He  has  really  married  Petrova — I 
know  her  manager.  He  was  mad  about  her — is 
still,  I  believe,  though  he  can't  give  up  pretty 
women."  He  tilted  his  chair  back  and  glanced 
after  Mary's  vanishing  figure.  "  The  girl  with 
him  now  is  worth  looking  at !  Well,  Petrova  will 
make  him  pay  for  everyone  he  has  played  that 
game  with  hitherto." 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE  morning  light  had  tempted  Mr.  Block  to 
prolong  the  work  far  into  the  luncheon  hour, 
and  at  two  o'clock  Miss  Grey  was  still  smil- 
ing and  bowing  to  Miss  Egan  and  Mr.  Everard  in 
a  property  stage  box  while  the  camera  behind 
them  waited  the  word  to  start.  Between  the  mimic 
stage  and  the  mimic  box  the  heads  of  a  phantom 
audience  wrere  supposed  to  show,  and  everybody 
who  chanced  to  enter  the  studio  was  pressed  into 
the  service,  very  much  to  their  disgust. 

Mary  Trefusis  was  sitting  on  the  stairs  leading 
to  the  dressing-rooms  with  another  girl,  named 
Eobin  Ward,  and  Mr.  Percy  Cunningham,  afraid 
to  move  lest  she  should  be  wanted,  and  painfully 
aware  that  a  young  and  healthy  appetite  had  de- 
manded luncheon  an  hour  ago. 

"  They'll  go  on  like  this  for  another  hour  if 
the  sun  doesn't  come  out  more,"  said  Miss  Ward 
in  despair,  looking  through  the  open  door  of  the 
green  room  to  the  quiet  glare  of  the  garden.  Bril- 
liant sunshine  was  not  nearly  so  precious  as  the 
steady  half-tones  of  a  sun  behind  cloud,  since  it 
induced  too  much  black  and  white.  Mr.  Block  was 
seizing  his  opportunity  and  working  his  cast 
hollow. 

"  Thank  the  Lord  I'm  going  out  to  dinner!  " 
said  Mary,  laughing.  "  I  shall  save  up  and  have 
a  good  feed." 

"  Are  you  going  out  to  dinner?  "  asked  the 
other  girl  with  a  half-veiled  curiosity.  She  was 

107 


108  WANDERING  FIRES 

a  little  afraid  of  Mary  Trefusis,  though  the  latter 
was  quite  unconscious  of  it,  as  of  someone  who 
belonged  to  another  world  than  her  own,  and  she 
was  more  than  a  little  interested  to  find  out  where 
and  with  whom  she  was  dining. 

"  Yes,"  said  Mary  carelessly.  "If  I  live 
through  this  show  to-day.  Oh,  how  awfully  hun- 
gry I  am!  '  Her  half -comic,  half-serious  outcry 
caught  Jefferson  Bromley's  ears  as  he  was  pass- 
ing from  his  dressing-room  to  the  hall,  and  he 
stopped  and  looked  at  the  group  on  the  stairs  with 
a  very  genuine  concern. 

"  Haven't  you  girls  had  anything  to  eat  yet? 
Why,  it 's  long  past  two !  ' 

11  Oh,  Mr.  Bromley,  do  go  and  see  whether  they 
are  still  at  it,  or  if  we  may  go  out  and  find  buns !  ' ' 
said  Mary,  laughing,  and  looking  up  with  her  wide 
eyes.  "  We  daren't  leave,  because  Mr.  Block  said 
he  might  want  us  at  any  minute." 

"  Stay  here — I'll  make  it  all  right,"  said  the 
lead  quickly,  and  sprang  up  the  stairs  two  steps 
at  a  time.  The  concern  in  his  face  had  become  a 
species  of  worried  indignation,  more  especially  for 
the  girl  he  always  regarded  as  somewhat  in  his 
charge.  There  was  no  least  necessity  for  such  a 
sense  of  responsibility,  but  it  was  one  that  Mary 
usually  impressed  on  those  around  her. 

In  the  studio  the  electrician  was  engaged  in  a 
heated  argument  with  the  scenic  artist,  because 
the  latter  wanted  the  footlights  to  the  mimic  stage 
thrown  upwards  on  the  prima  donna  (Ellen  Grey), 
who  had  to  come  between  the  curtains  to  take  a 
call.  He  said  the  bulbs  could  not  be  worked  up- 
side down,  and  he  knew  his  job,  and  he  would 
thank  the  scenic  artist  to  attend  to  his  business. 
Both  men  wanted  their  luncheons  and  were  throw- 
ing off  the  resentment  of  an  empty  stomach,  while 


WANDERING  FIRES  109 

the  scene  hung,  and  the  camera  waited,  and  Mr. 
Block  like  a  wise  man  allowed  the  specialists  of 
his  trade  to  fight  it  out. 

The  instant  Bromley  appeared  he  was  involved 
in  the  scene. 

1 '  Jeff,  go  and  sit  down  in  front  there,  and  make 
another  head  in  the  audience." 

It  was  too  late  to  retreat.  Bromley  ruefully 
stepped  past  the  scene-shifters  and  junior  elec- 
tricians and  supers  seated  on  the  dusty  floor, 
and  interpolated  his  own  smooth-cropped  head 
amongst  the  untidy  mops  of  the  workmen.  He 
was  annoyed  at  being  caught,  but  comforted  him- 
self a  minute  later  when  Mr.  Block's  telephone 
girl  brought  in  a  message  and  met  the  same  fate. 

"  Miss  Jones,  just  sit  down  there  for  a  minute, 
and  help  with  the  heads. ' ' 

From  the  focus  of  the  camera  there  was  nothing 
to  be  seen  but  the  opera  box  in  which  sat  Mr. 
Everard  and  Miss  Egan,  and  through  the  opening 
and  beyond  them  the  silhouette  of  clustered  heads 
against  the  footlights  and  the  mimic  stage.  The 
telephone  girl  dropped  into  a  seat  beside  Brom- 
ley, grumbling  softly,  and  the  electrician  having 
triumphantly  demonstrated  his  point  to  the  un- 
convinced scenic  artist,  the  word  was  at  last  given 
to  start. 

"  Places  for  the  pictures — camera!  "  The  cam- 
era whirred  softly  as  Miss  Grey  swung  back  the 
curtains,  bowing  and  smiling  over  the  queer  med- 
ley of  faces  at  her  feet.  "  Applaud!  "  prompted 
Block  from  his  place  beside  the  operator,  and  there 
was  a  momentary  show  of  hands  both  from  the 
"  heads  "  and  the  occupants  of  the  stage  box. 
Then  Miss  Grey  let  the  curtain  fall  for  the  last 
time,  and  Everard  lifted  Miss  Egan's  cloak  and 
laid  it  round  her  shoulders  as  they  prepared  to 


110  WANDERING  FIRES 

leave  the  box.  It  would  look  natural  on  the  screen, 
despite  the  stage  hands  and  Jefferson  Bromley 
and  Miss  Jones  to  help  the  "  heads. " 

"  Can  those  girls  on  the  stairs  go  out  and  get 
something  to  eat?  They  are  wanting  it  badly,'* 
Bromley  said  to  the  manager  as  soon  as  the  scene 
was  done.  He  possessed  a  certain  gift  of  tact  that 
generally  won  him  his  way,  and  he  was  a  universal 
favourite ;  but  to-day  Mr.  Block  was  unwavering, 
even  to  him. 

"  No,  they  can't  go  out — I  must  use  this  light  as 
long  as  it  lasts.  But  they  can  have  some  sand- 
wiches and  coffee — tell  the  kitchen,  Jeff.  I  sent 
down  word  early. ' ' 

Bromley  went  himself,  and  saw  that  the  make- 
shift luncheon  at  least  appeared  promptly,  aug- 
mented by  cake.  There  was  generally  food  on 
the  premises  for  an  emergency,  though  The  Grange 
did  not  boast  a  restaurant  like  the  newest  studios, 
but  the  cast  preferred  to  go  put  and  forage  for 
themselves  for  a  more  substantial  meal.  The  sand- 
wiches were  sent  into  the  green  room,  and  two  or 
three  of  the  girls  followed  them,  as  young  horses 
will  follow  the  grain-pan,  even  when  out  at  grass. 
Miss  Egan,  however,  contested  Mr.  Block's  author- 
ity and  went  out  to  the  Railway  Hotel,  and  Brom- 
ley had  had  his  lunch  long  since  as  he  had  not 
happened  to  be  on  in  the  last  scene. 

"  I'm  in  charge  of  the  commissariat,"  said  Cun- 
ningham, as  he  mounted  guard  over  the  table. 
"  Play  fair  with  the  sandwiches,  and  don't  wolf 
'em."  He  jerked  Everard  away  with  his  elbow, 
and  taking  the  sandwiches  in  couples  from  the 
dish  with  his  fingers,  he  laid  them  first  in  Robin 
Ward's  hand  and  then  in  Ellen  Grey's.  Robin  fell 
on  her  share  without  a  protest,  but  Ellen  Grey 
gave  one  expressive  glance  at  the  plate  and  Cun- 


WANDERING  FIEES  111 

ningliam.  It  was  not  wise  to  quarrel  with  the  man 
who  wrote  the  scenarios ;  he  could  have  found  no 
character  to  suit  her  in  the  next  picture.  She  had 
learned  a  bitter  wisdom  in  the  earning  of  her  bread 
and  butter. 

"  Will  you  have  some  sandwiches,  Miss  Tre- 
f usis  1  '  Cunningham 's  enquiry  was  a,  mere  form, 
but  the  offer  marked  a  little  difference  in  his  treat- 
ment of  the  novice  to  that  of  the  older  members 
of  the  company. 

Mary  looked  at  the  sandwiches  in  his  hand  with 
eyes  which  were  absolutely  blank.  "  No,  thank 
you,"  she  said  coolly,  and  rising  she  helped  her- 
self to  two  more  from  the  plate  on  the  table.  One 
of  the  other  men  coughed,  and  Cunningham  looked 
as  if  he  might  have  flushed  were  it  not  for  the 
make-up  on  his  face. 

1  i  Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon !  "  he  said  with  an  em- 
barrassed laugh.  * '  I  did  not  know  that  you  were 
so  particular." 

Mary  did  not  answer ;  she  was  eating  her  sand- 
wiches with  zest  and  a  very  real  hunger.  It  did 
not  occur  to  her  that  her  action,  entirely  justifiable 
for  herself,  had  put  both  the  other  girls  in  a  humil- 
iating position.  Robin  Ward  drew  back  from  her 
a  little  and  began  to  chat  to  Everard  rather  loudly 
and  to  laugh  more  than  usual.  Ellen  Grey  ap- 
peared quite  undisturbed.  Only  a  little  pulse 
ticked  in  her  temple,  and  the  thin  hand  that  held 
the  detestable  sandwich  was  not  quite  steady — the 
operator  would  have  condemned  it  on  the  screen. 
She  knew  that  Jeff  Bromley  had  been  a  witness 
to  the  incident,  and  that  he  must  have  approved 
of  Mary's  revolt  from  impossible  manners  which 
she  herself  had  tacitly  accepted.  That  was  hard — • 
that  was  very  hard.  But  life  itself  was  hard  to 
Ellen  Grey.  She  had  learned  to  seem  hard  also, 


112  WANDERING  FIEES 

and  to  present  an  impervious  surface  to  the  knocks 
of  the  world. 

"  May  I  get  you  some  coffee?  "  Bromley  was 
saying  to  Mary.  "  Or  will  you  wait  for  the  next 
course?  It  is  cake,  but  if  you  think  very  hard  that 
it  is  nice  hot  pudding  perhaps  it  will  become  so.'* 

* '  Bring  me  coffee  now,  please,  at  once !  ' '  said 
Mary,  lifting  laughing  eyes  to  his  quizzical  face. 
"  I'll  have  everything  that  I  can  get.  Do  cut  me 
some  cake,  or  pudding,  or  whatever  you  like  to 
call  it. " 

But  he  brought  the  whole-  dish  of  sandwiches  as 
well  as  the  coffee,  and  watched  over  her  while  she 
ate  them  before  he  would  let  her  have  cake. 
Mary  passed  the  dish  to  the  other  girls  with  a 
natural  and  unforgetting  politeness.  She  had 
lived  in  a  world  where  small  courtesies  polished 
the  hard  crust  of  selfishness  or  indifference. 

"  I  don't  believe  we  shall  do  another  scene  I  " 
said  Robin  Ward  with  a  glance  at  the  windows 
opening  into  the  garden  behind  her.  "  It's  a 
wash-out,  and  we  shall  have  rain.  It's  sickening 
to  have  kept  us  here  so  long — three  o'clock  al- 
ready! " 

"  They  can  use  the  spots.  That's  the  worst  of 
interiors,"  grumbled  Everard.  He  meant  that  the 
spot  lights,  that  answer  to  the  limes  of  the  real 
stage,  might  be  utilised  to  assist  the  daylight,  and 
make  it  possible  to  go  on  with  the  indoor  scenes, 
whereas  had  they  been  working  out  of  doors  the 
rain  would  release  them.  He  was  an  ardent  golfer, 
like  so  many  actors,  and  he  wanted  to  get  away  to 
Wimbledon,  where  he  lived,  in  time  for  a  game. 

"  If  we  don't  get  through  the  interiors  this  week 
we  shall  never  get  to  Dartmoor  by  September," 
said  Ellen  Grey  quietly.  "  There  are  some  in  the 
new  pictures,  too." 


WANDERING  FIRES  113 

"  Well,  those  can  wait  till  the  winter,  when  we 
are  back  in  the  studio." 

"  That's  your  picture  play,"  said  Bromley, 
smiling  down  into  Mary's  face  as  she  munched  her 
cake.  *  *  Did  you  realise  that  you  are  really  going 
to  begin  next  week !  ' ' 

"  Am  I!    How  exciting!  " 

His  face  wrinkled  up  in  a  fashion  that  she  found 
subtly  attractive.  She  sometimes  tried  to  make 
him  laugh,  merely  to  watch  the  lines  round  his 
mouth  and  eyes.  *  *  It  is  still  like  playing  a  game, 
isn't  it?  "  he  said. 

"  It  wasn't  much  of  a  game  to-day  to  sit  on  the 
stairs  and  starve!  But  it's  awfully  thrilling  to 
think  I  'in  really  going  to  be  on  the  screen. ' ' 

11  Did  Block  rehearse  you  to-day?  " 

"  Yes,  and  he  said  I  should  do  all  right  when  I 
had  someone  to  act  with.  I  get  so  lost  when  you 
are  not  there — my  hands  dangle  from  the  wrist,  or 
else  they  move  like  semaphores." 

"  You  should  signal  for  help!  " 

'  *  I  did,  but  you  didn  't  come !  ' ' 

Ellen  Grey  put  down  her  coffee-cup  very  quietly 
and  began  to  smoke.  Those  unsteady  hands  of 
hers  wanted  schooling,  and  she  liked  the  narcotic. 
A  few  minutes  later  Bromley  went  away  to  see 
if  the  weather  would  procure  the  cast  their  re- 
lease, and  after  some  delay  the  light  was  pro- 
nounced really  hopeless  and  everyone  was  dis- 
missed at  four  o'clock.  He  walked  home  with 
Mary  in  the  rain,  for  he  had  a  standing  invitation 
to  tea  at  Laurel  Lodge,  and  surprised  her  by  en- 
quiring very  tactfully  and  kindly  into  her  finances. 

11  I  am  going  to  take  a  great  liberty,  Miss  Tre- 
fusis,  but  I  know  what  girls  are  about  money," 
he  said,  in  that  quick  fashion  that  she  had  thought 
un-English.  "  Now  you  won't  be  offended,  will 


114  WANDERING  FIRES 

you?  I  know  you  haven't  been  paid  for  re- 
hearsal." 

''If  it  hadn't  been  for  you  I  expect  I  should 
have  had  to  pay  for  my  training  instead !  ' '  Mary 
said  dryly. 

"  Well,  how  do  you  stand?  I  know  you  have 
had  to  pay  for  your  board  all  this  time,  and  the 
heaps  of  small  expenses  there  are  besides.  You 
took  me  into  your  confidence  when  you  wanted  to 
get  work,  you  know,  so  you  don't  mind  my  asking, 
do  you?  " 

"  Of  course  I  don't."  She  stared  at  him  with 
all  her  big  eyes  that  he  should  be  so  diffident  in 
asking  her.  '  *  I  had  about  twenty  pounds  when  I 
left  Restawhile,  and  most  of  it  has  melted  away, 
though  I  really  have  been  careful.  I  don't  know 
whether  I  should  have  been  stony  before  I  got  to 
Dartmoor,  but  I  borrowed  of  a  pal." 

11  One  of  your  own  family?  "  he  asked  quickly. 
A  vague  anxiety  beset  him  as  he  looked  at  her  un- 
conscious face.  She  could  not  afford  to  borrow 
because  she  had  so  much  with  which  to  pay  back. 

"  No — I'll  see  my  own  family  d d  first!  " 

said  Mary  ingenuously.  "  It  was  a  pal  of  my 
own — a  man — why,  you've  seen  him!  The  man 
who  helped  in  the  scene  at  Restawhile." 

"  Mr.  Thome?  " 

The  name  came  quickly  to  his  lips — too  quickly, 
for  it  betrayed  how  that  incident  had  remained 
in  his  mind,  with  its  significant  figure  of  a  Man 
and  a  Girl.  He  remembered  Thorne  quite  well — a 
smart  man,  even  in  flannels,  with  a  face  that  said 
many  things  to  men  as  well  as  to  women.  Had  he 
been  asked,  he  would  probably  have  answered  ex- 
actly as  Mary  had  done :  "  He  is  a  bit  of  a  nib !  " 

1 l  I  wish  you  had  borrowed  of  me  instead !  "  he 
said,  out  of  some  unspoken  fear  for  her.  She  was 


WANDERING  FIRES  115 

so  beautiful,  walking  beside  him  in  the  rain,  that 
she  gave  him  a  horrible  feeling  of  watching  a  child 
run  heedlessly  along  the  edge  of  a  precipice,  re- 
joicing in  the  use  of  its  limbs  the  while  it  risked 
them.  He  had  an  instinct  to  snatch  her  back  from 
he  knew  not  what. 

"  Why,  you  don't  think  it  mattered,  do  you?  I 
shall  pay  it  back  as  soon  as  I  get  going,  and  we 
know  each  other  quite  well."  Her  face  was  almost 
distressed,  not  because  she  had  accepted  the  loan, 
but  because  Bromley  seemed  to  deprecate  it.  She 
did  not  at  all  like  him  to  object  to  anything  she  did. 

"  No — no!  "  he  said  hastily.  "  I  am  sure  Mr. 
Thorne  was  as  worried  as  I  am  at  the  idea  of  your 
being  without  enough  money,  and  you  would  have 
hurt  his  feelings  if  you  had  refused.  It  was  only 
that  I  should  have  liked  to  have  made  the  offer 
first.  I  was  too  late,  you  see." 

"  Well,  I  wish  you  had,"  said  Mary  generously, 
and  in  a  way  she  did  wish  it,  the  more  so  because 
of  Eddie's  parting  kiss.  Why  on  earth  had  he 
kissed  her?  It  was  so  stupid.  It  might  have  lin- 
gered in  her  memory  and  made  her  almost  self- 
conscious  with  him  if  she  had  allowed  herself  to 
be  so ;  and  its  outcome,  though  unadmitted  by  her, 
had  been  that  she  had  not  seen  him  again  up  to  the 
present  date.  She  would  have  written,  frankly 
demanding  his  presence,  and  contrived  to  go  up 
to  London  or  to  bring  him  down,  but  for  that  im- 
pulse of  his  in  the  shrubbery.  She  put  off  the 
meeting,  and  felt  the  awkwardness  of  not  being 
able  to  explain  why,  even  to  herself.  It  did  not 
occur  to  her  that  Thorne  probably  guessed  the 
cause  of  the  delay. 

Bromley  was  rather  silent  for  the  last  few  yards 
before  they  reached  the  little  house  with  the  green 
door.  Mary  ran  upstairs  to  "  clean  up,"  as  she 


116  WANDEEING  FIEES 

said,  before  coming  in  to  tea  (though,  she  had 
taken  the  paint  off  her  face  at  the  studio),  and  he 
went  straight  into  the  drawing-room,  where  he 
found  Mrs.  Smythe  in  the  eagerness  of  welcome. 
She  almost  met  him  with  outstretched  hands,  and 
it  touched  him  because  he  was  clever  enough  to 
realise  that  he  merely  embodied  that  beautiful 
thing  called  Eomance  which  makes  life  worth  liv- 
ing. Gladys  Smythe  was  living  in  a  romance  just 
now,  with  Bromley  and  Mary  for  its  principal 
characters,  and  he  knew  that  she  would  deserve 
any  confidence  and  be  as  chivalrous  a  princess 
errant  as  he  was  a  knight  for  straying  beauty. 

"  Mrs.  Smythe,"  he  said,  almost  before  they 
had  shaken  hands,  "  I  am  so  glad  Miss  Trefusis 
has  gone  upstairs,  as  I  want  to  speak  to  you  about 
her.  You  must  not  think  I  am  taking  a  liberty, 
because  she  has  confided  in  me  like — well,  like  the 
child  she  is. '  * 

"  I  wish  she  were  a  child!  "  said  Gladys  breath- 
lessly. "  Only  then  I  suppose  she  would  be  still 
more  unmanageable.  The  worst  of  it  is  that  she  is 
a  baby  one  minute  and  a  mature  woman  the  next, 
and  nothing  but  a  girl  again  before  you  can  turn 
round.  She  takes  life  for  granted,  and  some  day 
it  will  take  her  unawares. ' ' 

~"  Exactly,"  he  answered  quickly.  "  And  I 
know  you  are  a  friend  of  hers  or  I  wouldn't  tell 
you.  But  if  you  find  she  is  in  any  difficulty,  either 
about  money  or  anything  else,  do  please  persuade 
her  to  come  to  you  or  me  before  anyone  else — un- 
less, of  course,  she  chooses  to  write  to  her  own 
family. ' ' 

"  What  has  she  been  doing?  '  Mrs.  Smythe 's 
voice  was  almost  like  a  cry.  "  She  isn't  in  money 
difficulties,  is  she?  She  hasn't — borrowed?  " 

"  Yes,  she  has," 


WANDERING  FIEES  117 

"  Of  the  cinema  people?  " 

* '  I  wish  it  were  so. ' ' 

"  Not  of  that  man  she  knows?  Oh,  how  I  hate 
him!  " 

"Whatman?  " 

"  This  Mr.  Thome— Eddie  Thorne." 

11  Do  you  know  Thorne?  "  Bromley  was  puz- 
zled. Much  as  he  deprecated  Mary  borrowing 
from  a  man  of  that  type,  he  could  not  imagine 
anyone  disliking  Thorne.  He  himself  had  liked 
him  very  much,  and  a  considerable  knowledge  of 
the  world  advised  him  that  women  would  probably 
like  him  rather  more. 

"  No,  I've  never  seen  him,"  said  Mrs.  Smythe 
with  no  less  energy.  ' '  I  don't  know  what  he  looks 
like — but  I  loathe  him !  She  went  to  tea  with  him 
at  the  Club  here — that  pretty  garden ! — and  some- 
how she  seemed  so  far  away  from  me  all  the  eve- 
ning afterwards.  And  I  know  he's  a  fast  man — 
Mary  admits  that  he  is  a  bit  of  a  nib !  ' 

Bromley's  face  began  to  wrinkle  again,  he  could 
not  help  it.  The  expression  was  so  like  Mary,  and 
so  suited  to  Thorne. 

"  Yes,  he  is,"  he  said.  "  He's  a  very  good  fel- 
low and  a  gentleman ;  and  when  Miss  Trefusis  was 
living  her  old  life  it  did  not  matter.  But  now  that 
she  is  in  a  different  position  I  wish  she  had  rather 
borrowed  of  me." 

He  felt  so  sure  of  himself.  He  understood 
Mary's  position  as  Thorne  could  not  do,  and  it 
fretted  him  to  think  that  he  had  been  forestalled 
in  coming  to  her  rescue.  He  was  a  fool  not  to  have 
thought  of  it  sooner,  he  and  Gladys  Smythe.  And 
Thorne,  with  those  quick,  observant  eyes,  had  seen 
and  claimed  the  power  of  obligation  over  her  that 
they  coveted.  He  did  not  think  why  he  wanted  to 
do  her  a  service;  he  only  felt  that  he  wanted  to, 


118  WANDERING  FIRES 

and  that  he  was  a  safer  man  than  Thorne  for  her 
to  trust. 

"  I  shall  worry  all  night  about  this,"  said  Mrs. 
Smythe.  "  And  she  is  dining  out  with  him  to- 
night! " 

11  Is  she?  " 

Bromley's  face  clouded.  He  had  no  shadow  of 
authority  over  Mary  Trefusis,  and  already  he  was 
experiencing  that  fruitless  desire  to  help  her 
against  herself  that  had  pursued  her  friends  and 
relations  from  her  childhood.  He  got  up  and  be- 
gan to  walk  about  the  narrow  room  impatiently, 
being  brought  up  short  by  the  china  cabinet  and 
checked  by  the  piano-stool  until  he  longed  to  kick 
them  out  of  his  way.  He  looked  so  big  and  dis- 
comforted that  Gladys  Smythe  adored  him  all  the 
more. 

"  She  is  nothing  but  a  spoilt  child!  "  he  said, 
and  somehow  the  kindly  voice  was  a  little 
wounded. 

"  And  Eddie  Thorne  is  a  perfect  nuisance!  ' 
declared  Gladys  Smythe  angrily. 

"  If  he  could  only  hear  you  he  would  be  fright- 
fully aggrieved !  ' '  said  Mary 's  voice,  with  a  laugh 
in  it,  as  she  entered.  1 1  Eddie  would  never  believe 
that  a  pretty  woman  could  think  him  a  nuisance. 
He  would  sulk  and  fret  over  it  forever.  What's 
he  done,  anyway?  " 

"  He's  taking  you  out  to-night,  and  I  shan't 
have  very  much  more  of  you,"  said  Mrs.  Smythe 
adroitly. 

"  He  is,  is  he!  "  said  Mary  thoughtfully.  Her 
eyes  twinkled  a  little  as  they  looked  from  Gladys 
to  Jeff  Bromley,  who  had  subsided  into  the  easy 
chair  by  the  tea-table.  "  Well,  I  hope  he  will  give 
me  a  good  dinner !  I  wonder  where  we  shall  dine  ? 
I  haven't  an  idea!  " 


WANDERING  FIRES  119 

"  Oh,  the  Ritz,  or  some  Bohemian  Club,  I  sup- 
pose," said  Mrs.  Smythe,  with  miserable  impa- 
tience. 

"  I  hope  it  will  be  the  Bohemian  Club!  " 
laughed  Mary.  "  I  hate  the  Ritz — all  my  dear 
families  always  go  there." 

"  It  sounds  a  trifle  conventional  for  you,"  put  in 
Bromley  unexpectedly.  It  was  so  unprecedented 
a  censure  that  it  roused  Mary  to  retort  under  a 
guise  of  impenetrable  innocence.  "  Oh,  but  I'm 
growing  more  conventional  than  I  was !  ' '  she  said 
carelessly.  "  I've  known  you  for  weeks,  and  I 
still  call  you  Mr.  Bromley.  I  never  dreamed  of 
doing  that  with  other  men.  Don't  you  think  it's 
an  improvement  in  my  manners!  " 

"  No,  I  don't  find  it  an  improvement,"  said 
Bromley,  with  a  quick  look  from  his  eyes,  which, 
having  challenged,  she  would  not  meet.  '  *  I  think 
your  manners  would  be  much  nicer  if  you  didn't 
say  Mr.  Bromley." 

Mary  laughed  as  she  rose  from  the  sofa  and 
strolled  over  to  the  little  piano,  touching  the  keys 
softly  with  idle  fingers.  "  You'd  be  awfully 
shocked  if  I  said  Jeff!  "  she  said  over  her  shoul- 
der, and  began  to  hum  a  song  as  she  stood,  play- 
ing the  accompaniment  without  troubling  to  sit 
down. 

"Mary,  Mary,  all  contrary,  how  does  your  garden  grow? 

With  crepe-de-chine  from  Mondays  clean,  and  silk  stockings 
all  of  a  row!  " 

"  Oh,  give  her  some  tea,  and  tell  her  to  be 
good!  "  said  Mrs.  Smythe  to  the  actor,  thrusting 
the  delicate  little  cup  into  his  hand.  The  tea- 
service  had  been  a  wedding  present,  and  she  loved 
it;  but  she  loved  staging  a  flirtation  so  much 
better  that  ey^n  if  he  had  dropped  the  cup  in  his 


120  WANDERING  FIRES 

excitement  she  would  instantly  have  forgiven  him. 

Bromley  did  not  drop  the  cup,  however.  He 
carried  it  carefully  over  to  the  piano,  and  put  it 
on  the  candle-rest.  "  Here  is  your  tea,"  he  said, 
and  then  in  so  practised  a  tone  that  even  Mrs. 
Smythe  could  not  hear  in  the  little  room, 
* '  Mary !  "  he  added. 

The  girl  turned  to  help  herself  to  the  tea-cake 
he  offered  her  without  answering,  but  her  upper 
lip  lifted  deliciously,  and  her  one  dimple  flickered 
in  the  cheek  nearest  to  him.  It  is  a  great  pity  that 
we  do  not  recognise  more  that  we  are  all  brothers 
and  sisters  in  Adam.  Brothers  have  a  right  to 
kiss  their  sisters,  as  Jefferson  Bromley  reflected. 
All  he  could  do  was  to  use  his  voice  and  eyes  as 
his  profession  and  Nature  had  taught  him — the 
first,  because  it  enabled  him  to  drop  an  aside  that 
should  not  be  overheard  by  the  audience,  the  sec- 
ond because  it  is  the  way  of  a  man  with  a  maid. 
And  in  spite  of  it  all  he  remembered  that  she  was 
dining  out  with  an  older  friend  to-night — the  man 
he  had  seen  with  her  when  they  first  met,  and 
speculated  shrewdly  as  to  their  relations  with  each 
other.  .  .  . 

As  a  matter  of  fact  Mary  was  not  dining  with 
Eddie  Thorne,  though  it  had  amused  her  to  be 
accused  of  it.  She  was  dining  with  Major  Dur- 
ham, somewhere  in  town,  and  he  was  to  meet  her 
at  Victoria  station.  It  was  typically  "  all  con- 
trary "  of  Miss  Trefusis  that  when  Durham  wrote 
to  her  a  week  or  so  since,  she  should  have  ignored 
him  and  ordered  Thorne  to  give  her  tea  at  the  Roe- 
hampton  Club;  but  Eddie,  yielding  to  his  evil 
genius,  had  kissed  her  on  impulse,  and  she  had 
swung  back  to  the  thought  of  Durham,  ending  by 
answering  his  letter.  She  did  not  know  where  he 
had  arranged  to  dine,  and  they  had  no  plans  for 


WANDERING  FIRES  121 

the  evening;  but  as  she  did  not  want  to  be  late  it 
did  not  matter.  It  was  up  to  her  host  to  amuse 
her,  anyway. 

She  had  never  met  Durham  since  the  day  of  her 
fatal  trip  to  London,  and  she  laughed  openly  to 
herself  that  his  face  was  a  blur  to  her.  She  would 
hardly  recognise  him  when  they  did  meet.  Yet 
when  he  walked  quietly  up  to  her  the  instant  she 
alighted  at  Victoria  she  looked  at  him  and  remem- 
bered the  strange  light  eyes  and  the  dark  hair  as 
if  they  had  been  impressed  on  her  subconscious 
memory. 

"  Supposing  that  we  hadn't  recognised  each 
other !  ' '  she  bubbled,  as  they  shook  hands.  ' '  We 
might  each  have  dined  with  someone  else  and 
never  found  it  out  until  too  late." 

"  That  is  supposing  an  impossibility.  I  always 
remember  my  neighbours. ' '  He  pointed  the  allu- 
sion to  their  former  meeting  by  a  slight  pressure 
of  her  hand,  and  hailed  a  taxi  that  by  remote 
chance  was  disengaged.  "  There  are  more  cabs 
this  year,"  he  said,  as  he  opened  the  door. 
"  Savoy,  driver." 

"  Or  we  have  more  luck,"  said  Mary,  as  she 
leaned  back  in  her  seat  and  turned  her  radiant 
face  to  his — a  pale  face,  more  radiant  than  any 
flush. 

"  I  think  the  luck  was  just  in  the  shortage  of 
cabs  that  day  at  Paddington.  For  me,  at  least.  I 
am  afraid  you  must  have  thought  that  run  up  to 
London  very  ill-starred." 

"  Well,  I  don't  know — I  have  had  luck  too.  It 
was  very  fortunate  for  me  that  I  got  work  so 
quickly,  and  could  stand  on  my  own." 

11  I  want  to  hear  all  about  that — you  must  tell 
me.  I  think  it  was  the  very  pluckiest  thing  I  ever 
heard  of  a  girl  in  your  position.  We  will  talk  it 


122  WANDERING  FIRES 

out  over  dinner.  Do  you  mind  the  Savoy?  I 
thought  we  might  go  on  the  balcony  if  the  restau- 
rant is  hot." 

Mary  accepted  the  imputation  of  a  courageous 
independence  without  telling  him  of  the  alterna- 
tive offered  her  by  her  relations.  She  had  come 
to  believe  so  much  in  her  own  action  in  going  on 
the  cinema  stage  that  she  almost  fancied  that  there 
had  been  a  stern  necessity,  and  that  nothing  stood 
between  her  and  starvation  but  her  own  prompt 
decision.  It  was  a  much  more  comforting  point 
of  view  than  the  self-will  that  had  caused  com- 
motion and  anxiety  to  her  family.  She  assured 
Durham  that  she  should  love  to  dine  at  the  Savoy, 
and  in  five  minutes  was  chatting  to  him  as  freely 
as  if  they  had  met  last  week  and  known  each  other 
on  intimate  terms.  It  was  a  pleasure  unrecognised 
to  have  someone  to  talk  to  of  the  world  in  which 
she  was  living,  who  did  not  belong  to  that  world, 
and  who  could  look  at  it  from  the  standpoint  of 
her  own  traditions  which  she  could  not  alter  how- 
ever much  she  dressed  them  up  and  called  them 
by  other  names. 

1 '  Very  nice  girls, ' '  she  told  him  of  the  company. 
"  I  don't  care  about  the  men  so  much — except  the 
principals.  They  are  all  right.  The  women  have 
what  they  call  a  good  time,  going  out  to  dancing- 
classes  when  they  can  and  picking  up  partners  who 
take  them  about.  I  daresay  it's  fun." 

He  looked  at  her  comprehensively  with  his  light 
liquid  eyes.  It  was  quite  obvious  that  she  saw  no 
analogy  between  promiscuous  acquaintances 
picked  up  at  a  dancing-class  and  one  picked  up, 
say,  at  a  railway-station  through  a  shortage  of 
taxi-cabs.  Yet  it  might  have  occurred  to  him  if 
not  to  her.  Mary  was  a  law  to  herself,  but  not  al- 
ways to  other  people. 


WANDERING  FIRES  123 

"  And  you  like  the  life?  "  he  said,  as  they  sat  at 
the  little  table  overlooking  the  river.  Durham  had 
engaged  his  table  beforehand,  and  it  was  deco- 
rated with  roses — the  same  kind  of  pink  roses 
that  he  had  sent  to  Mary  in  July  at  Brown's  Hotel. 
Through  the  branches  of  the  plane-trees  they  could 
see  the  lights  flash  up  and  down  the  Embankment 
on  the  ringing  cars,  and  now  and  then,  but  seldom, 
some  river  craft  slipping  by  like  a  ghost  through 
the  dusk,  in  contrast  to  the  loud,  obvious  trams — 
wandering  fires,  going  who  should  say  where,  and 
unstable  to  follow. 

"  I  like  it  in  a  way — it  is  doing  something,"  said 
Mary,  as  she  stole  all  the  toast  out  of  the  napkin, 
to  the  confusion  of  the  foreign  waiters.  "  If  I 
had  stayed  as  I  was  I  should  never  have  had  the 
experience  at  least." 

"  Perhaps  then  it  is  a  blessing  in  disguise?  " 

"  Y-yes.  Only  I  could  always  do  without  the 
disguise,  couldn't  you?  " 

His  whole  face  lit  up  with  a  smile,  for  as  a  rule 
he  was  rather  serious,  as  she  was  beginning  to 
recognise.  "  What  is  the  fly  in  your  ointment?  " 
he  said,  looking  at  her  young,  careless  face.  Mary 
was  happy  with  the  lights  and  the  river  and  the 
other  tables  with  people  in  evening-dress — those 
old  associations  of  a  leisured  life  that  eats  and 
drinks  without  thinking  of  the  cost.  Though  it 
was  August,  there  were  plenty  of  people  dining 
in  the  restaurant  this  hot  night,  and  apparently 
going  on  to  hotter  entertainments ;  but  a  soft  air 
came  in  at  the  great  open  windows  behind  Dur- 
ham's table,  and  it  was  as  good  as  dining  outside. 

"  I  get  rather  sick  of  the  monotony.  We  work 
really  hard,  you  know,"  said  Mary,  and  she  tossed 
her  pretty  head.  "  People  make  such  mistakes 
about  stage  life.  It's  inclined  to  be  hum-drum." 


L24  WANDERING  FIRES 

"  Life  can  never  be  hum-drum  if  one  lives  it 
deep  enough." 

1 '  I  don 't  know  what  you  mean. ' ' 

"  I  mean  that  your  life  is  in  you,  and  not  in 
your  surroundings  or  circumstances. " 

She  looked  at  him  intelligently,  but  without  com- 
prehension. '  *  Oh,  you  can  make  a  diversion — just 
as  the  girls  do  who  learn  dancing  to  make  fresh 
acquaintances.  But  I  don't  know — somehow  that 
seems  only  another  kind  of  monotony. ' ' 

* '  So  it  is,  because  it  is  all  on  the  outside  still. ' ' 
He  seemed  speaking  more  out  of  an  inward  con- 
viction than  to  her,  though  his  eyes  remained  on 
her  face  as  if  he  loved  its  frank,  inexpressive  love- 
liness. "  One  reason  of  the  restlessness  of  the 
world  is  that  people  so  often  miss  their  affinities 
and  go  about  seeking  them.  They  know  that  some- 
where or  other  the  personalities — it  may  be  only 
the  types — exist,  while  all  round  them  are  the 
ordinary  or  the  uncongenial.  The  majority  of  us 
console  ourselves  with  second  or  even  third  best, 
and  philosophically  settle  down  with  the  wrong 
companions  in  a  dull  world ;  but  here  and  there  is 
a  stronger  craving  that  must  be  satisfied.  When 
this  happens  with  class  barriers  between,  it  ends 
either  in  tragedy  or  a  self-made  man  or  woman. ' ' 

'  *  Perhaps  that  is  why  most  marriages  are  such 
a  ghastly  failure,'7  said  Mary  meditatively,  biting 
at  her  tenth  friandise.  She  was  very  fond  of 
friandise. 

11  Or  rather  a  partial  success?  " 

"  I  think  that's  worse.  There  is  no  real  excuse 
for  altering  it  in  that  case.  Fancy  living  on  for 
years  in  the  hope  that  it  may  turn  out  all  right, 
because  it  hasn't  turned  out  quite  wrong!  And 
always  just  falling  short." 
"  You  have  plenty  of  time  to  find  the  comple- 


WANDERING  FIRES  125 

mentary  colour  at  least.  I  never  can  think  why 
girls  are  in  such  a  hurry. " 

"  I  don't  think  they  are,  nowadays.  I  know 
plenty  of  women  who  prefer  their  single  blessed- 
ness. Marriage  is  a  thing  that  I  shall  only  try 
when  I  have  tried  everything  else!  " 

It  was  that  sort  of  speech  that  taxed  men's  for- 
bearance with  Mary  Trefusis,  but  she  seldom 
found  them  wanting.  Durham  looked  at  her  with 
a  kind  of  exasperated  patience,  but  she  had  spoken 
with  perfect  composure,  and  he  turned  his  light 
eyes  away  to  the  other  dinner-tables  rather 
quickly.  Those  on  the  balcony  were  all  full,  and 
two  late  diners  entering  the  restaurant  were  evi- 
dently put  out  by  having  to  endure  the  heat  of  the 
inside  room.  They  sat  down  by  a  pillar,  the  man 
having  his  profile  to  Durham  and  Mary  as  he  faced 
down  the  room,  but  the  lady  had  turned  her  back 
to  the  rest  of  the  tables  as  if  thoroughly  out  of 
conceit  with  them  and  herself,  and  ate  her  cold 
soup  in  expressive  silence. 

"  Petrova  is  not  dancing  to-night,"  said  Dur- 
ham quietly. 

'  *  Who  I  ' '  Mary  turned  quickly  in  her  seat  and 
looked  back  into  the  room  in  her  turn.  The  no- 
torious Russian  dancer  was  a  big,  fair  woman,  in 
a  gown  that  fitted  her  figure  like  a  snake's  skin 
in  defiance  of  fashion.  The  modelling  of  her  neck 
and  shoulders  and  the  superb  bust  were  so  incom- 
parable that  one  forgot  that  the  rest  of  her  was 
less  faultless,  yet  she  was  not  really  a  pretty 
woman.  The  face  was  too  heavy  even  for  a  sensu- 
ous beauty,  the  features  had  a  certain  Tartar  flat- 
ness— even  the  massed  hair  grew  too  low  over  the 
forehead.  And  there  was  a  touch  of  sullenness 
upon  her  now  that  suggested  a  sulky  child. 

"  There  is  a  good  example  of  our  diatribe  on 


126  WANDERING  FIRES 

marriage,"  said  Durham,  with  a  slight  smile. 
"  Wrong  companions  in  a  dull  world!  No  one 
but  a  madman  or  a  Russian  would  have  married 
Petrova,  and  only  the  Russian  could  have  had  a 
hope  of  success  with  her  as  a  wife." 

Mary  did  not  answer.  She  was  looking  at  the 
dancer  and  her  companion  with  parted  lips 
through  which  the  breath  came  unevenly.  Petrova 
had  just  drawn  her  snake-like  skirts  away  pet- 
tishly as  the  busy  waiter  brushed  her  inadvertently 
in  passing,  and  almost  thrust  away  the  wheeled 
tables  as  they  rolled  to  and  fro.  She  was  behav- 
ing very  badly  in  a  public  place. 

"  That  is  her  husband  with  her,"  Durham  went 
on,  speaking  fluently  to  fill  the  pause,  and  perhaps 
to  divert  Mary  Trefusis  from  more,  dangerous 
talk.  "  He  is  easily  diagnosed  as  insane  rather 
than  of  her  own  nationality.  He  was  insane  about 
her,  and  certainly  insane  to  marry  her.  They 
have  quarrelled  ceaselessly,  and  so  far  she  has 
always  brought  him  to  his  knees.  But  a  man  can't 
live  on  his  knees.  He  is  jealous  of  every  other 
person  who  looks  at  her,  and  it  is  Petrova 's  aim 
in  life  to  be  looked  at.  He  is  a  man  named  Thorne 
— one  of  the  Thornes  of  Upcott,  and  hitherto  a 
'  bachelor  gay.'  Petrova  will  make  him  pay  for 
that." 

"  I  know  him,"  said  Mary  suddenly.  "  He  is 
very  much  in  love  with  her !  ' 

Thorne  was  leaning  across  the  table,  talking  to 
his  wife — soothing  her  or  reasoning  her  into  good 
temper,  it  seemed.  He  saw  no  one  else  in  the 
room,  and  would  have  seen  no  one  even  in  acknowl- 
edging their  presence,  though  he  was  a  keenly  ob- 
servant man.  It  was  so  obvious  that  Petrova 
absorbed  him  body  and  soul  that  Mary  had  a  sense 
of  indecency  in  watching  them.  She  did  not  recog- 


WANDERING  FIRES  127 

nise  Eddie  in  the  man  with  the  strained,  moved 
face,  and  it  jarred  her.  If  he  felt  like  this  how 
could  he  have  kissed  her — or  any  woman — for  a 
passing  fancy?  She  remembered  his  speech  about 
wandering  fires,  and  reproached  him  in  her  mind. 
The  thing  was  ugly,  too  real,  and  at  the  same  time 
too  unreal.  She  wanted  to  get  away  from  it,  and 
shrank  from  further  revelation. 

11  Are  we  going  to  do  anything?  "  she  said  care- 
lessly, turning  her  face  from  the  room  and  towards 
the  dark  river.  "  I  have  smoked  three  cigarettes 
already,  and  if  my  hands  and  arms  are  not  steady 
to-morrow  at  rehearsal  I  shall  be  no  use  for  the 
screen." 

She  drew  her  wrap  round  her — a  relic  of  last 
year  and  more  frequent  restaurant  dinners — and 
preceded  Durham  leisurely  across  the  room,  look- 
ing at  Petrova  once  more  as  she  went.  No,  the 
woman  was  not  pretty.  She  was  only  magnificent, 
and  dangerous,  and  full  of  strange  moods.  Mary 
had  no  fear  that  Thorne  would  see  her,  though 
she  did  not  wish  him  to,  for  he  was  trying  pitifully 
to  coax  his  wife  back  to  some  sort  of  enjoyment. 
Poor  Eddie!  .  .  . 

"  Would  that  woman  fascinate  me  if  I  were  a 
man?  "  thought  Mary,  as  she  passed  them,  uncon- 
scious of  her  presence.  "  Poor  Eddie!  .  .  .  and 
Gladys  said  he  was  a  nuisance,  and  Jeff  was — 
jealous  of  him!  .  .  .  Poor  Eddie — '  following 
wandering  fires  '  .  .  .  I  feel  miserable  about 
him!  " 

And  finding  herself  in  need  of  comfort  she 
slipped  her  hand  into  Durham's  at  the  first  oppor- 
tunity. 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE  spectacle  of  Eddie  Thome  in  love  is  not 
one  to  evoke  even  the  gods '  sardonic  sense  of 
humour.    It  amazed  his  friends — men  of  his 
own  set,  and  women  who  had  been  a  little  more 
than  kin  and  only  too  kind  to  him — and  it  drove 
even  Mary  Trefusis  into  unhappiness  to  witness  it. 
But  it  was  too  patent  to  be  disguised,  even  by 
Eddie,  schooled  to  keep  a  secretive  face  above  his 
love  affairs  from  the  time  he  left  Eton. 

He  had  seen  Petrova  dance  because  other  men 
had  raved  of  her  sensuous  grace  and  the  sugges- 
tion of  passion  in  all  her  timed  movements;  but 
the  glamour  of  her  personality  did  not  really 
affect  him  until  he  "got  introduced  to  her  by  the 
merest  chance  through  an  older  admirer.  This 
man — John  Sinclair — had  been  an  unavowed  and 
unrequited  slave  to  the  dancer  since  her  first 
appearance  in  England,  and  finding  himself 
slighted  had  reasoned  that  all  the  rest  of  his  coun- 
trymen would  fare  the  same,  with  a  man's  uncon- 
scious vanity.  He  had  introduced  Thome  to 
Petrova  because  Thorne  had  asked  him  to,  and 
Thome  had  asked  him  because  he  saw  that  Sin- 
clair hugged  himself  for  the  privilege  of  knowing 
her,  and  valued  it  above  a  bow  from  royalty.  But 
Petrova  could  be  gracious  as  well  as  ungracious, 
and  her  heavy-lidded  eyes  were  not  always  sulky. 
She  was  a  splendid  animal,  and  she  appreciated 
the  strength  and  fighting  qualities  of  the  athlete 
in  Sinclair's  friend,  exactly  as  a  female  leopard 

128 


WANDERING  FIRES  129 

might  apprise  such  qualities  in  a  male.  Then 
Thome  went  mad.  He  became  fascinated  with 
the  dancer  and  took  her  breath  away  with  the 
rush  and  flame  of  his  wooing.  He  was  something 
quite  new  after  older  men  of  the  Sinclair  type,  and 
she  had  not  recognised  that  the  stolid  British 
nation  could  produce  racehorses  of  men  as  well 
as  the  heavy  working  shire.  The  two  impulsive 
natures  were  so  alike  each  other  in  certain  aspects 
that  disaster  was  bound  to  follow ;  but  finding  that 
nothing  but  marriage  would  obtain  her,  Eddie 
married  her,  almost  at  the  point  of  the  sword, 
snatching  her  from  other  claimants. 

In  less  than  three  months  Petrova  was  resenting 
his  practised  attentions  to  other  women,  and  Eddie 
was  so  miserably  jealous  of  the  men  who  admired 
her  that  she  might  have  pitied  him.  Neither  of 
them  would  make  concessions  to  the  other,  both 
seeing  nothing  but  their  own  point  of  view.  It 
was  Eddie's  knowledge  of  her  sex  that  had  at- 
tracted Petrova,  the  gay,  devil-may-care  manner, 
and  the  dark  eyes  that  fired  her  heavy  red  blood ; 
but  she  wranted  for  herself  alone  what  was  only 
the  result  of  a  too  generous  experience.  On  the 
other  hand,  she  took  as  her  right  the  public  ad- 
miration that  she  had  always  had,  and  it  was  fine 
torture  to  Eddie  to  see  other  men  affected  as  he 
was  himself.  They  were  always  quarrelling,  and 
so  far  the  Russian  had  brought  him  to  his  knees 
before  they  were  badly  reconciled,  as  Durham  had 
told  Mary;  but  a  man  cannot  live  on  his  knees. 
Eddie  was  growing  somewhat  tyrannically  in  love, 
and  it  wanted  but  one  more  touch  to  upset  the 
equilibrium  of  the  waiting  crises  between  him  and 
his  wife. 

Curiously  enough,  John  Sinclair  was  one  of  the 
few  men  he  did  not  suspect  with  Petrova,  or  of 


130  WANDERING  FIRES 

whom  he  was  only  passingly  jealous.  But  Sin- 
clair's emotions  did  not  betray  themselves,  and 
he  was  no  longer  a  young  man.  A  community  of 
interests  kept  them  friends,  and  made  Sinclair  one 
of  the  few  habitues  of  Thorne  's  flat  in  Hans  Place. 
He  had  been  playing  cricket  for  Yorkshire  when 
Eddie  played  it  for  his  own  county,  but  had  re- 
tired just  as  the  Etonian  began  his  career.  Sin- 
clair was  a  slogger,  heavy  at  the  wicket  and  heavy 
in  the  field.  He  bowled  down  wickets  as  if  they 
were  solid  gateposts,  he  crashed  at  tlie  batsman 
without  any  apparent  science  but  nerve-racking 
decision.  Yet  he  did  not  look  the  build  of  his 
great  forerunner  Jessop,  being  a  middle-sized  man 
with  an  ugly  squareness  of  shoulder  and  fero- 
ciously long  arms.  Thorne,  on  the  contrary,  was 
the  joy  of  reporters,  who  exhausted  their  journal- 
ese in  the  effort  to  do  justice  to  his  style  and  the 
really  conscientious  work  he  put  in  for  his  county. 
It  was  a  pity  that  Petrova  knew  nothing  about 
cricket,  for  Eddie  was  never  nearer  to  beauty  than 
when  he  got  set  on  a  moderate  pitch — his  quick- 
ness of  movement  brought  out  his  strength,  and 
she  could  appreciate  agility  and  the  force  that 
drives  it,  from  her  own  art.  But  Eddie  was  not 
playing  cricket  since  the  war  on  account  of  shrap- 
nel wounds;  and  even  if  he  had  done  so  his  wife 
would  have  stared  with  uninterested  eyes  when  he 
came  out  of  the  pavilion,  and — talked  to  the  near- 
est man,  over  her  shoulder. 

When  Block's  Film  Company  left  London  for 
Dartmoor  Mary  Trefusis  sent  Thorne  a  panel  pic- 
ture of  herself  in  her  new  part  of  "  Angelica," 
without  any  consideration  that  it  might  be  an  em- 
barrassing addition  to  a  small  flat  tenanted  by  a 
jealous  wife  as  well  as  himself.  It  was  a  lovely 
photograph,  and  Eddie  put  it  up  on  the  dining- 


WANDERING  FIEES  131 

room  mantelpiece  for  the  present  because  Petrova 
had  gone  into  a  nursing-home  for  a  rest  cure,  as 
great  dancers  have  to  do  at  intervals  to  ease  mus- 
cles and  brain  alike.  He  could  easily  remove  the 
picture  before  her  return  both  to  married  life  and 
the  stage,  and  he  felt  it  due  to  Mary,  who  had 
really  written  him  a  very  dear  little  note  to  say 
good-bye,  to  have  it  about  for  the  time  being.  The 
note  was  prompted  by  that  vision  of  him  at  the 
Savoy — but  that  he  did  not  know.  He  put  it  down 
to  the  memory  of  their  last  meeting,  and  was  half 
piqued  that  his  kiss  had  not  had  sufficient  influence 
to  make  her  see  him  personally.  He  had  never 
kissed  Mary  before,  and  he  knew  at  once  why  she 
had  not  followed  up  the  interlude  by  demanding 
his  presence.  It  had  been  rather  fortunate  for 
him,  since  Petrova  had  a  way  of  probing  his  en- 
gagements and  catching  him  unawrares  in  half- 
truths.  But  now  that  he  was  temporarily  a  bach- 
elor he  could  have  met  Mary  and  taken  her  out 
with  him  to  their  mutual  benefit,  and  he  would  not 
have  let  her  go  South  without  another  meeting 
had  he  known  the  date  of  her  departure.  When 
he  looked  at  her  picture  he  felt  all  the  more  an- 
noyed, for  it  was  almost  as  pretty  as  Mary  her- 
self, save  for  the  quick  play  of  expression,  and  he 
felt  that  she  had  cheated  him  of  the  pleasant  ex- 
citement that  a  new  advance  with  anything  femi- 
nine always  gave  him.  It  was  too  bad  of  Molly. 
If  he  had  been  a  woman  he  would  have  pouted. 
He  almost  doubted  whether  she  liked  him  quite  as 
much  as  he  had  felt  sure  she  did  in  the  shade  of 
the  trees  at  Roehampton  .  .  .  and,  being  "  bored 
stiff  "  by  his  own  society,  he  asked  Johnnie  Sin- 
clair to  dinner. 

When  Sinclair  entered  the  room  he  was  met 
half-way  by  Chit,  the  rough-haired  terrier,  and 


132  WANDERING  FIRES 

stopped  perforce  until  the  dog  had  assured  him- 
self of  the  guest's  intentions  and  his  trousers. 
The  inspection  ended  by  a  little  sneeze  on  Chit's 
part,  and  a  roguish  wag  of  his  tail  which  was 
meant  to  convey  to  Sinclair  that  they  were  en 
g argon  in  the  flat,  and  he  was  free  to  enjoy  himself. 

"  Lie  down,  dog!  "  said  Eddie,  in  the  conven- 
tional tones  of  owner  and  master  of  the  house ;  and 
Chit  took  no  notice  whatever.  He  knew  that  if 
Sinclair  were  not  to  be  impressed  ihis  master 
would  have  rubbed  his  head  between  his  two  hands 
and  talked  to  him  in  a  language  they  only  under- 
stood. He  did  not  mind  impressing  Sinclair,  but 
he  really  could  not  pretend  to  be  a  good  and  obedi- 
ent dog  when  he  was  a  personal  friend.  He  drew 
back  politely,  -however,  to  allow  Sinclair  to  ad- 
vance, and  the  guest  went  straight  up  to  the  fire- 
place as  if  he  were  a  magnet  drawn  to  a  lodestone, 
and  Igoked  at  the  big  panel  photograph  standing 
there,  with  inscrutable  eyes,  while  his  host  mixed 
cocktails. 

"  Pretty  girl!  "he  remarked.  "  On  the  stage?  " 

11  Cinema,"  said  Eddie,  not  ill-pleased  at  being 
discovered  in  possession  of  the  picture.  "  Well, 
here's  luck!  "  He  raised  his  glass  and  tossed  off 
the  cocktail  as  much  to  the  photograph  as  Sinclair. 

"  Mary  Trefusis,"  read  Sinclair  slowly — the 
photo  was  signed,  for  Mary  did  not  love  to  hide 
her  light  under  a  bushel,  and  was  she  not  "  An- 
gelica," the  star  part  in  the  new  reel?  "  Not 
Poker  Trefusis'  daughter?  " 

"  Yes.    Did  you  know  him?  " 

"  Oh,  yes — good  old  sort,  but  not  the  best  type 
of  father  for  a  girl,  I  should  say.  Not  for  that 
girl,  at  any  rate."  Sinclair  was  still  looking  at 
the  photo  with  amusing  eyes,  his  empty  glass  in 
his  hand. 


WANDERING  FIRES  133 

"  He  went  smash  or  something — nothing  left 
after  his  death,"  said  Eddie  laconically.  "  The 
girl  was  a  good  plucked  'un  and  started  on  her 
own,  at  picture  work." 

"Yes,  I  heard  they'd  come  to  almighty  grief," 
said  Sinclair  quietly.  "  The  queer  thing  is  that 
the  very  day  I  saw  his  death  in  the  paper  I  had 
been  going  down  to  stay  with  a  party  of  men  at 
the  hotel  at  Sandown  Park  where  he  had  been.  I 
thought  he  was  there  then,  but  he'd  gone  home 
to  die." 

"  Yes,  and  another  odd  thing  is  that  I  was  ex- 
pecting the  girl  to  lunch  with  me  the  same  day 
he  did  die,"  exclaimed  Eddie.  "  She  had  come 
up  to  London  only  the  day  before  for  a  jolly — no 
idea  her  father  was  ill  beyond  a  cold — and  we 
were  lunching  at  the  Bath.  A  friend  of  hers  rang 
me  up  and  gave  me  a  shock  by  telling  me  that 
Mary  Trefusis  had  gone  back  to  their  place  on 
the  river  there  and  then.  But  her  father  was  dead 
when  she  got  home." 

Sinclair's  thick  eyebrows  were  drawn  over  his 
deeply-set  eyes  as  if  he  were  trying  to  remember 
something.  * '  Old  Poker  died  on  the  seventh, ' '  he 
said.  "  I  know  because  I  was  going  to  Sandown 
Park  on  the  eighth.  Was  that  the  date?  " 

"  Yes,  I  daresay — yes,  it  must  have  been." 

"  You  were  lunching  with  Miss  Trefusis  on  the 
seventh?  ' 

"  Yes — but  it  didn't  come  off.  Come  on, 
Johnnie,  let's  have  our  own  dinner  at  any 
rate." 

Chit  made  the  third  at  dinner,  sitting  between 
the  two  men  and  communicating  with  his  master 
by  means  of  a  wet  nose  and  a  system  of  Morse  bjr 
his  tail  on  the  floor.  It  was  one  of  Petrova's  griev- 
ances that  the  clog  could  make  Thorne  understand 


134  WANDERING  FIRES 

him  as  if  he  were  almost  human;  but  even  Chit's 
loyalty  could  not  forewarn  a  mental  bludgeon.  As 
Sinclair  sat  down  to  table  he  said,  "  There's  an- 
other coincidence — I  was  driving  down  to  Victoria 
that  morning,  and  I  picked  up  a  girl  at  Hyde  Park 
Corner  and  took  her  to  the  Stores.  She  couldn't 
get  a  cab.  I  wondered  where  on  earth  I  had  seen 
Miss  Trefusis  before  when  I  looked  at  her  photo- 
graph just  now.  It's  the  same  girl." 

"  No!  "  said  Eddie,  with  a  little  drawl  and  a 
sudden  laugh.  *  *  Just  like  her.  But  she  oughtn  't 
to  do  that  sort  of  thing,  with  her  face. ' '  Then  he 
recollected  something — Mary's  boast  at  Roehamp- 
ton,  to  shock  him,  that  she  had  hailed  a  private 
car  that  fateful  morning,  and  how  the  man  had 
driven  her  to  the  Stores,  and  she  had  told  him  that 
she  was  lunching  with  her  husband !  He  glanced 
sharply  at  Sinclair,  wondering  if  it  were  true,  and 
if  Johnnie  remembered ;  but  his  guest 's  imperturb- 
able face  was  concentrated  upon  the  salmon,  and 
the  incident  of  Miss  Mary  Trefusis  seemed  to 
interest  him  no  longer.  He  merely  remarked: 
11  She  seemed  to  me  the  kind  of  girl  who  wanted 
trouble — would  be  fed  up  if  she  didn't  find  it 
sooner  or  later." 

11  Oh,  she's  a  nice  girl — run  at  grass  too  long, 
that 's  all.  She  wanted  breaking  to  harness  again, ' ' 
said  Eddie  uneasily,  playing  with  his  dog's  ears. 
Chit  felt  the  anxiety  in  the  nervous  fingers,  and 
looked  round,  suspiciously  to  find  the  cause.  He 
feared  that  Petrova  had  come  back. 

"  I  don't  mean  that  she  would  ever  come  to 
harm.  That  type  doesn't.  She  only  wants  to. 
Like  the  American  women  "  (he  masticated  the 
salmon  between  the  sentences),  "  there's  a  prom- 
issory note  in  her  eyes  that  she  is  not  prepared  to 
meet!  " 


WANDERING  FIRES  135 

Perhaps  Thorne  wondered,  but  lie  did  not  dis- 
cuss his  women  friends  with  men.  He  did  some- 
times discuss  them,  but  not  by  name,  with  other 
women — when  the  last  * '  incident  ' '  was  quite  over, 
and  the  new  one  had  reached  the  confidential  stage. 
Sinclair  did  not  discuss  anyone  with  anybody,  and 
the  conversation  drifted  to  old  cricket  matches, 
and  to  the  day  when  Eddie  rode  a  horse  in  the 
Slapdash  Steeplechase  and  landed  his  backers  in 
the  ditch  because  he  saw  that  his  only  opponent 
was  out  of  it  and  pulled  his  mount  to  a  trot;  but 
the  other  rider  scrambled  back  into  the  saddle 
after  an  ugly  fall  and  got  his  horse  somehow  into 
a  reeling  gallop,  and  they  lurched  past  Eddie  on 
the  post. 

"  My  own  horse  was  done  out,"  said  Eddie  in 
amused  reminiscence.  "  It  was  no  use  trying 
to  get  him  even  into  a  canter  once  I  had  pulled 
up." 

"  He'd  have  gone  on  if  you  hadn't  pulled  up!  " 

"  Yes,  but  I  never  thought  Curtis  would  pick 
himself  up  after  that  last  fence,  and  it  is  no  good 
riding  a  beaten  horse  at  the  gallop  just  to  come  in 
racing. ' ' 

1  i  Well,  you  landed  the  Haymaker  Stakes  for  us 
the  next  week,  anyway. ' ' 

"  I  wonder  if  I  shall  ever  race  again!  "  said 
Eddie,  with  a  little  sigh.  * '  All  the  old  life  seems 
gone  somehow  since  the  war." 

"  And  you're  married!  "  said  Sinclair,  with 
slow  significance. 

Eddie  did  not  look  married.  It  was  his  psychol- 
ogy. But  though  he  could  detach  himself  from 
marriage  sufficiently  to  keep  Mary's  photograph 
on  the  mantelpiece,  he  remembered  it  enough  to 
go  and  see  his  wife  in  the  nursing-home  as  often  as 
the  doctors  and  nurses  would  allow.  They  ex- 


136  WANDERING  FIRES 

plained  to  him,  somewhat  laboriously,  that  the 
visits  of  a  husband,  or  of  anyone  connected  with 
the  strenuous  life  lived  by  Madame  Petrova,  were 
inimical  to  the  absolute  quiet  that  constituted  the 
rest  cure,  and  that  she  would  not  get  the  full  bene- 
fit of  the  treatment  unless  she  could  forget  every- 
one for  a  time  except  herself  and  the  needs  of  her 
own  body  and  mind;  but  Petrova 's  down-pent 
brows  and  the  opaque  eyes  under  the  level  lids 
explained  much  more  of  the  brooding  silence  be- 
tween them  that  comes  before  a,  storm.  She  had 
not  forgotten  the  last  heated  discussion  that  led 
up  to  her  overstrained  nerves  and  squalls  of  pas- 
sion, when  Eddie  had  accused  her  of  accepting 
attentions  from  a  colonel  of  Cossacks,  and,  heated 
in  his  turn,  had  wanted  her  to  swear  that  she  loved 
him,  and  him  only,  that  no  other  man  had  held  her 
in  his  arms  since  her  marriage.  (He  writhed  to 
feel  that  it  was  hopeless  to  ask  her  of  such  things 
before  he  had  known  her.  If  he  could  know  that 
he  was  the  only  one  since,  the  angry  blood  in  his 
veins  might  cool  down  again.) 

"  I  shall  not  swear,"  said  Petrova,  with  slow 
contempt.  "  Why  should  I  make  you  such  a  vow? 
Have  I  asked  you  to  swear  that  you  will  not  kiss 
the  woman  you  looked  at  in  the  train  last  week 
when  we  travelled  to  Windsor?  ' 

'  *  The  woman  in  the  train !  ' '  Eddie  sometimes 
forgot  his  roving  eyes,  and  was  really  at  a  loss. 
"  You  don't  suppose  I  should  go  and  kiss  a 
stranger?  Don't  be  a  baby,  Pet— you  are  rather 
a  baby,  you  know !  ' 

It  had  been  a  godsend  to  Eddie  that  his  wife's 
Russian  name  admitted  of  an  English  diminutive ; 
but  her  full  lips  did  not  alter  their  ominous  curve 
for  the  caressing  voice.  "  If  I  had  not  been  there 
you  would  have  spoken — and  if  you  had  spoken 


WANDERING  FIRES  137 

you  would  not  have  lost  time !  I  know — yes.  It  is 
always  so  with  you — a  look,  a  word,  you  follow  it 
up,  and  you  kiss  her  sooner  or  later,  if  she  let  you. 
And  I  am  to  sit  and  do  nothing  while  you  make 
love  elsewhere.  I  thank  you,  but  I  can  amuse 
myself  also !  ' ' 

Then  had  followed  protestations,  recrimina- 
tions, accusations  in  which  unfortunately  both  had 
truth  on  their  side,  and  finally  a  pitch  of  excite- 
ment that  had  added  faint  lines  to  Thorne  's  irreg- 
ular, expressive  face,  and  had  been  the  climax  to 
the  overstrain  from  which  the  great  dancer  was 
suffering  after  a  long  season.  It  had  been  a 
humiliating  scene,  and  had  left  its  mark  on  both 
of  them. 

But  there  was  no  consciousness  of  it  on  Eddie's 
face  as  he  was  admitted  to  his  wife's  room  at  the 
home  some  days  after  Sinclair  had  dined  with  him. 
He  came  in  looking  as  only  an  Englishman  can 
look  who  is  in  condition  and  well  dressed,  smart 
and  clean,  and  equally  fit  to  fight  for  his  life  or 
enter  his  Queen's  drawing-room.  Petrova  lay  on 
her  back  in  the  narrow  white  bed  surrounded  with 
flowers.  The  bouquets  and  sheaves  and  fancy  de- 
signs that  used  to  go  to  the  Opera-house  now  came 
to  the  home,  and  it  was  part  of  the  nurse's  duties 
and  a  little  triumphant  excitement  to  arrange  them 
about  her.  She  was  not  a  pretty  woman,  all  her 
beauty  lay  in  her  movements  and  the  suggestion 
of  her  art;  but  as  he  bent  over  her  to  kiss  her 
Thome's  heart  throbbed  against  his  broad,  hard 
chest  as  hotly  as  the  first  time  that  he.had  snatched 
that  privilege. 

"  Well,  dearest,  how  goes  it?  "he  said,  in  that 
quick,  stirred  voice  that  his  wife  had  begun  to 
resent  rather  than  not  since  she  fancied  it  used  to 
other  women.  "  Getting  rested?  " 


138  WANDERING  FIEES 


<  i 


Oh,  I'm  better !  '  The  full  lips  did  not  return 
the  pressure  of  his,  and  she  moved  half  sulkily  on 
her  pillows  like  a  petulant  child. 

' «  What  a  lot  of  flowers !  Who  sent  them  ?  '  In 
spite  of  his  good  intentions  the  suspicion  was  in 
his  voice  again. 

"  How  can  I  remember?  Look  at  the  cards  or 
the  notes  if  you  would  know. ' ' 

"  You  don't  mind  my  knowing?  ' 

Petrova's  eyes  were  insolent  under  the  pendu- 
lous lids.  "  Why  should  I  mind?  I  do  not  care 
what  you  know !  ' ' 

He  took  up  a  magnificent  sheaf  of  carnations, 
all  shades  of  red,  and  smelt  them  half  absently, 
his  eyes  resting  on  his  wife 's  averted  face  and  the 
heavy  rope  of  light-brown  hair  that  lay  twisted 
over  her  shoulder.  There  was  a  ribbon  tying  the 
flowers,  twined  in  and  out  amongst  them,  that  had 
perhaps  escaped  the  dancer 's  notice,  but  Thorne  's 
observant  eyes  saw  something  written  on  it — Rus- 
sian characters,  a  message.  .  .  .  He  pulled  it  off 
them  roughly,  throwing  the  flowers  back  on  the 
bed,  and  held  it  between  his  hands,  his  brows  gath- 
ering into  a  frown  above  his  eyes  with  no  smile 
no\v  to  contradict  it.  He  had  learned  a  little  Rus- 
sian from  his  wife  in  the  earlier  days  of  their 
marriage — not  much,  but  enough  to  guess  at  the 
meaning  of  the  written  ribbon,  possibly  exagger- 
ating it. 

* '  Your  friends  choose  curious  methods  for  their 
love-letters,"  he  said.  "  Surely  pen  and  paper 
would  be  more  private.  This  is  from  Dubrowski. ' ' 
He  asserted  the  Cossack  colonel's  name  before  ac- 
tually reading  it;  but  his  wife  sprang  up  in  bed 
from  her  resting  attitude,  her  eyes  awake  and 
alight  with  something  very  like  hatred. 

"  Give  it  to  me!  "  she  shouted  imperiously,  and 


WANDERING  FIRES  139 

as  lie  hesitated,  looking1  at  her  intently  with  eyes 
which  had  grown  almost  black,  she  broke  out  into 
a  storm  of  abuse,  half  English  and  half  Russian, 
her  large  supple  limbs  quivering  with  rage  and 
the  globe  oi'  her  breasts  seeming  to  swell  beneath 
the  fine  texture  of  her  nightdress. 

Eddie  suddenly  flung  the  ribbon  down  and 
turned  away,  his  face  working.  He  hardly  heeded 
her  mad  recriminations  until  a  sentence  in  Eng- 
lish caught  his  attention  like  a  flash  of  lightning 
through  the  rumble  of  thunder. 

"  You  to  talk  of  me — you,  who  go  about  this 
summer  with  a  girl  who  call  herself  your  wife, 
after  you  marry  me !  *  I  lunch  with  my  husband  1 
He  is  my  husband,  this  Thorne,'  she  says.  And 
her  face  is  in  the  house — my  house,  where  I  will 
never  come  again  with  the  two  of  you  making  an 
insult  for  me!  " 

She  stopped  raving  and  panting  as  her  nurse 
came  into  the  room  to  see  what  the  hubbub  was 
about. 

1  i  Now,  Madame  Petrova,  what  did  you  promise 
us?  How  can  we  cure  you  if  you  allow  yourself 
to  get  into  this  state  with  any  visitor  we  let  you 
have?  '  The  nurse — she  was  only  a  girl,  years 
younger  than  her  patient — held  up  a  calm  finger 
as  if  Petrova  were  nothing  but  a  naughty  child, 
and  signed  to  Thorne  to  go.  "I  am  sorry,  but  you 
must  not  excite  Madame  Petrova,"  she  said  in 
quick  reproach.  "  Another  time — when  she  is 
more  controlled  ..." 

"  But  there's  a  misunderstanding — I  must  ex- 
plain— I  can't  leave  it  like  this !  "  said  poor  Eddie, 
driven  to  distraction  by  the  revelation  that  some 
gossip  of  Mary  Tref usis '  recklessness  had  reached 
his  wife  in  a  garbled  version. 

"  Another  time!  "  repeated  the  nurse  warn- 


140  WANDERING  FIEES 

ingly,  with  a  gesture  towards  Petr ova's  flushed 
face  and  bitten  lips.  "  Say  good-bye  now,  please, 
Mr.  Thorne,  and  write  your  explanation  if  you 
like." 

Eddie  came  back  to  the  bedside  and  bent  down, 
heedless  of  the  nurse  overhearing.  The  situation 
was  too  desperate  for  such  considerations. 

' '  Pet !  "  he  pleaded.  *  *  You  don 't  understand— 
it  was  a  silly  joke  of  the  girl's — I  can  explain  it  all, 
darling. "  The  full  white  cheek  was  all  that  he 
could  see  of  the  face  pressed  against  the  pillow 
again,  and  the  unresponsive  coil  of  hair.  He 
stooped  lower  and  kissed  the  smooth,  creamy  neck, 
his  voice  in  its  most  coaxing  whisper:  "  Won't 
you  kiss  me,  darling?  Kiss  me,  yourself !  What, 
not  one?  " 

She  did  not  turn  her  heavy  head,  but  she  spoke 
in  a  deep,  hushed  tone,  as  if  the  words  came  up 
from  some  conviction  in  her  at  the  roots  of  her 
being. 

"  You  deceive  me  and  yourself.  You  deceive 
yourself  as  well  as  me.  We  have  made  a  knot  and 
a  tangle  of  our  love.  But  I  will  cut  us  a  way  out. " 

He  did  not  attach  much  importance  to  her 
words.  He  thought  they  were  the  backwash  of 
her  passion,  and  women  were  often  tragic,  they 
loved  scenes.  He  would  have  tried,  however,  for 
a  reconciliation  if  it  had  not  been  for  a  fresh  sign 
from  the  nurse  urging  him  to  go.  At  the  door  he 
turned  swiftly  and  looked  back;  but  Petrova  was 
lying  on  her  side,  with  closed  eyes,  and  seemed  al- 
ready oblivious  of  him.  He  did  not  see,  as  he  went 
out  of  the  door,  that  her  fingers  closed  over  the 
ribbon  he  had  flung  down  and  drew  it  nearer  to 
her,  up  to  her  breast,  until  her  hungry  eyes  could 
read  its  message.  .  .  . 

As  Thorne  went  down  the  deeply-carpeted  pas- 


WANDEEING  FIRES  141 

sage  of  the  home  he  met  the  matron  coming  out 
of  her  room.  She  began  to  smile  at  him,  hesitated, 
and  walked  on  without  stopping  to  speak  to  him 
as  she  had  intended,  for  she  had  found  a  certain 
charm  in  him  which  she  -kept  very  secret.  The  tor- 
tured frown  on  his  face  did  not  invite  conversation 
in  the  corridor,  and  she  doubted  if  he  even  saw 
her.  "  That  impossible  woman!  "  she  thought. 
*  *  She  makes  him  miserable.  She  would  make  any 
man  miserable."  She  was  a  shade  too  biassed  to 
be  just;  but  Petrova's  husband  needed  a  tender 
charity  just  then. 

AVe  can  only  take  out  of  this  world  what  we  put 
into  it.  Because  he  had  been  unfaithful  to  many 
women,  Eddie  Thome  could  not  believe  in  the 
faithfulness  of  one.  He  had  taken  life  light- 
heartedly,  rather  gallantly,  in  fact,  and  his  charm 
was  partly  due  to  it.  But  his  sins — harmless 
enough,  as  men  go — were  their  own  avengers.  He 
was  highly  strung,  and  he  could  feel  quickly ;  some- 
times he  could  feel  deeply.  Petrova  was  paying 
him  back  with  cruel  interest  what  he  had  borrowed 
of  other  women.  No  one  really  knew  how  much  he 
suffered,  and  certainly  no  one  credited  him  with 
the  capacity,  unless  it  were  Mary  Trefusis.  But 
the  little  puckered  lines  round  his  mouth  told  the 
strength  of  Petrova's  firm,  white  hand  in  dealing 
her  blows.  She  had  sworn  to  him,  with  tears  in 
her  eyes,  that  she  loved  him,  during  the  early  days 
of  their  ill-judged  marriage,  and  he  was  buoyed 
up  by  that  memory.  Then  the  torturing  doubt 
would  swing  back  again,  for  had  he  not  himself 
sworn  the  same  to  other  women,  almost  with  wet 
eyes,  and  forsworn  himself  over  a  newer  passion? 
He  forgot  that  he  had  meant  what  he  said  at  the 
time,  and  meant  it  again  at  the  next  temptation, 
and  that  his  wife  had  been  as  much  in  earnest 


142  WANDERING  FIRES 

simply  because  she  was  of  the  same  temperament. 
Even  now  he  was  torturing  himself  over  the  half- 
deciphered  Russian  words  on  the  ribbon  that  had 
held  her  flowers;  but  though  he  was  annoyed  by 
some  silly  story  about  Mary  having  reached  her 
ears,  he  forgot  that  he  had  yielded  to  a  passing 
temptation  at  Roehampton  in  kissing  the  girl,  or 
perhaps  he  did  not  care  to  remember  it.  If  he 
could  have  judged  Petrova  by  himself  he  might 
have  understood  her,  and  been  more  forgiving — at 
least  he  would  not  have  felt  outraged.  But  in  call- 
ing Petrova  false  he  forgot  to  call  himself  so. 

"  Sinclair  must  have  been  to  see  her,  and  told 
her  about  the  photograph,"  he  thought,  with  a 
light  half  breaking  in  on  him.  *  *  Damned  cheek ! — 
what  business  was  it  of  his?  I  oughtn't  to  have 
made  a  joke  of  it — but  it  was  the  fizz,  and  that 
cocktail  before  dinner.  We  weren't  drunk,  but  we 
were  just  all  right."  By  w^hich  he  meant  a  fine 
distinction  in  intoxication ;  but  the  disaster  of  the 
outcome  did  not  deter  him  from  going  to  the  Club 
and  having  another  cocktail,  the  memory  having 
put  it  into  his  mind.  It  would  brace  him  up  a  bit, 
and  make  him  forget  the  stormy  scene  in  Petrova 's 
bedroom  breaking  in  on  her  rest  cure.  "  I  was  a 
fool  to  leave  that  damned  photo  out,"  he  thought, 
as  the  mixed  spirits  lightened  his  own  for  the  min- 
ute. "  Molly's  too  pretty  to  explain  away — a  man 
gets  on  to  her  at  once. '  > 

The  curious  part  was  that  even  now  he  did  not 
think  that  Johnnie  Sinclair  had  made  mischief  on 
purpose ;  but  Eddie  was  as  trustful  of  his  fellow- 
man  in  dealings  with  himself  as  he  distrusted  him 
in  dealings  with  women.  And  this  again  was  but 
the  outcome  of  his  own  attitude.  He  had  his  creed. 
He  never  made  love  to  a  woman  who  had  in- 
troduced him  to  her  husband.  Somewhere  in 


WANDERING  FIRES  143 

Thome's  nature  was  a  finer  strain  that  forbade 
his  taking  a  man's  hand  and  betraying  him,  and 
a  woman  who  found  Eddie  attractive  spoilt  her 
own  chances  if  she  made  him  known  to  her  right- 
ful owner.  This  unlooked-for  scruple  was  bewil- 
dering to  the  opposite  sex,  who  draw  a  dividing 
line  between  black  and  white,  and  do  not  recognise 
that  man  is  more  grey  than  either.  To  a  woman, 
a  fast  man  is  a  bad  man  who  will  gallop  with  her 
straight  to  the  devil,  while  a  good  man  never, 
never  slips.  A  man  knows  his  own  kind  better, 
and  recognises  the  fine  inconsistency  of  his  mental 
attitude. 

But  Eddie,  judging  from  himself,  allowed  too 
much  of  noblesse  to  his  fellow  sinners.  "  Johnnie 
Sinclair  would  never  intentionally  betray  him?  " 
— and  Johnnie  Sinclair  had. 


CHAPTEE  VIH 

BLOCK'S  Cinema  Company  went  down  to  the 
Dartmoor  country  in  September,  fourteen 
strong.    They  filled  two  third-class  carriages, 
and  a  first-class  for  the  leads.    Block  was  not  with 
them,  and  the  production  of  the  outdoor  scenes 
was  left  to  the  operator  and  young  Philip  Block, 
who  was  a  nephew  of  the  manager  and  sometimes 
helped  to  produce. 

Although  she  was  an  important  item  in  the  pic- 
tures, Mary  Trefusis  was  only  drawing  a  small 
salary,  and  she  ranked  with  the  general  cast  and 
travelled  third.  It  would  have  been  pleasanter 
perhaps  to  have  gone  first  with  Jeit  Bromley  and 
to  be  looked  after  by  him;  but  that  would  have 
involved  travelling  for  hours  on  end  with  Miss 
Egan  and  Percy  Cunningham  as  well,  and  she  did 
not  greatly  love  them.  In  her  carriage  were  Robin 
Ward,  Walter  Everard,  Cecil  Norreys,  Ellen  Grey, 
and  her  brother  Arnold,  who  had  just  rejoined  the 
cast.  Mary  had  seen  him  on  her  first  appearance 
at  the  studio,  when  he  was  in  khaki,  talking  to  his 
sister;  he  had  only  been  demobilised  within  the 
last  few  weeks,  and  had  gone  back  to  his  older 
profession  of  the  cinema  stage.  He  was  a  tall  boy, 
well-set-up  from  his  military  training,  and  with  a 
certain  amount  of  good  looks  that  she  found  in- 
sipid. But  his  obvious  admiration  for  herself  was 
not  so  insipid,  and  she  was  not  above  laughing  and 
rattling  off  nonsense  on  the  journey,  partly  for  his 
benefit,  partly  from  the  outcome  of  her  own  health 
and  good  spirits.  Work  was  still  play  to  Mary, 

144 


WANDERING  FIRES  145 

though  she  was  beginning  to  take  the  mould  of  its 
routine,  to  be  no  longer  merely  an  amateur,  but  a 
unit  of  the  cast  to  whom  the  production  of  pic- 
tures was  the  business  of  life.  She  had  a  corner 
seat  in  the  carriage,  which  Bromley  had  procured 
for  her,  and  a  rug  which  he  had  lent  her  over  her 
knees,  and  a  book  which  she  did  not  read  because 
there  were  people  to  whom  to  talk.  Truth  to  tell, 
it  was  very  little  talk,  but  a  good  deal  of  chaff 
and  laughter  and  disjointed  phrases — the  wine  of 
life  bubbling  over  in  young  veins.  Then  there  was 
the  meal  in  the  third-class  refreshment-car,  at 
which  Arnold  Grey  and  Norreys  both  schemed  to 
get  the  seat  next  to  her,  and  more  jokes  on  the 
first-class  diners — their  own  ' '  toffs  ' '  amongst  the 
number — and  welcome  food  when  one  was  hungry. 
Travelling  third  with  a  company  was  not  so  bad 
as  it  might  have  been.  Amusing,  at  least. 

There  was  tea  on  the  refreshment-car  later  on, 
but  Mary  did  not  need  to  wait  for  it.  Bromley 
brought  her  a  cup  at  Bristol,  wralking  along  the 
corridor  with  it,  and  standing  talking  to  her  at 
the  carriage  door  while  she  drank. 

"  Getting  tired?  "  he  said.  "  Why  don't  you 
have  a  sleep?  " 

"  I  can't  sleep  on  a  journey — and  we  are  all 
making  too  much  noise." 

"  Tell  those  boys  to  be  quiet."  He  turned  in  his 
kind,  quick  fashion  to  Ellen  Grey.  "  I  daresay 
you  wanted  a  nap,  Nell." 

"  I  didn't  get  it,"  said  Ellen  Grey  quietly. 
"  Do  we  change  at  Exeter  or  Tavistock,  Mr. 
Bromley!  " 

"  Tavistock.  You  ought  to  let  the  girls  rest, 
Everard,  it's  a  long  journey.  There  is  room  in 
the  next  carriage,  if  you-  and  Norreys  want  to 
smoke. ' ' 


146  WANDERING  FIRES 

Then  he  went,  carrying  Mary's  cup.  She  looked 
a  little  curiously  at  Ellen  Grey,  because  she  had 
never  heard  Bromley  call  her  "  Nell  "  before, 
though  when  alone  with  herself  they  always  used 
Christian  names — he  never  did  so  before  the  other 
men.  But  of  course  Ellen  and  he  had  both  been  in 
the  same  company  for  so  long  that  it  was  natural. 
Ellen  had  settled  down  to  her  magazine  again, 
and  her  small,  dark  face  was  utterly  oblivious  of 
anything  unusual  during  Bromley's  brief  appear- 
ance. It  was  "  the  boys  "  who  broke  out  as  soon 
as  he  had  disappeared. 

"  He  needn't  supply  our  carriage  with  tea— 
that's  our  business."  (Arnold  Grey  had  as  a  fact 
procured  a  cup  for  his  sister  while  Bromley  was 
waiting  on  Mary.) 

"  Why  doesn't  he  devote  himself  to  the  Egan?  " 
"  The  'aughty  first  oughty  keep  to  its  'aughty 
self,  and  leave  the  'umble  third  to  its  'umble— 
"  Oh,  shut  up!    Miss  Trefusis  wants  to  sleep." 
"  Do  you  want  to  sleep,  Miss  Trefusis?  " 
"  Put  your  feet  up,  and  I'll  tuck  the  rug  over 
you- 


No,  hang  it,  Norreys,  that's  my  special- 


A  shriek  from  Robin  Ward  as  the  two  young 
men  swept  past  her  and  knocked  her  heavy  cup  of 
tea  on  to  the  floor,  half  full.  Mary  caught  her  feet 
up  out  of  the  way,  and  Robin  swung  right  round 
on  to  the  seat  of  the  carriage.  Then  the  train 
went  on,  whereby  Everard  lost  his  equilibrium  and 
sat  down  heavily  beside  her,  causing  wild  mirth. 
In  the  midst  of  which  Ellen  Grey  picked  up  the 
cup  and  saucer  and  put  them  out  of  danger,  lifting 
the  rugs  clear  of  the  mess.  Mary  wiped  her  eyes 
from  tears  of  laughter,  and  found  Arnold  Grey 
tucking  her  up  on  the  seat. 

"  Shall  I  put  you  in  the  rack,  like  other  light 


WANDERING  FIRES  147 

luggage?  "  lie  suggested,  with  a  touch  of  famil- 
iarity. 

"  No — don't  be  stupid,  Mr.  Grey."  She  drew 
back  from  his  encroaching  arms,  suddenly  aware 
of  herself.  She  should  have  been  first-class  after 
all,  with  her  maid  to  attend  to  her.  Life  tipped  a 
little  on  to  the  other  side,  and  she  regained  a  bal- 
ance. She  saw  its  effect  in  the  young  man's  eyes 
as  he  flung  himself  down,  half  pettishly,  on  the 
opposite  seat. 

"  He's  been  spoilt  by  being  in  khaki,"  thought 
Mary  shrewdly.  "  l  An  officer  and  a  gentleman  ' 
—only  he  isn't.  What  a  pity  they  can't  stand  it. 
We've  made  too  much  of  them.  I  wonder  where 
he  went  to  school  1  They  get  the  outlines  of  every- 
thing at  school.  Aunt  Alex  says " 

She  closed  her  eyes  and  pretended  sleep,  think- 
ing back  into  the  past.  Why  should  this  silly  boy 
have  offended  her  when  heaps  of  men  had  taken 
more  liberties?  .  .  .  Eddie  Thorne,  for  instance — 
Durham — a  host  of  others  she  had  known.  .  .  . 
Poor  Eddie !  She  remembered  him  at  the  Savoy, 
and  forgot  her  present  surroundings  in  that  rest- 
less vision  of  his  face.  .  .  . 

It  was  dark  when  they  reached  Two  Bridges — 
darker  still  two  miles  out  on  the  moor  to  the  farm- 
house where  they  were  all  to  lodge.  An  open  door 
and  a  stream  of  light  from  a  lamp  greeted  them, 
two  maids  in  caps  and  aprons — one  of  them  the 
cook — an  outside  man,  and  a  small,  grey-haired 
woman  with  a  long,  thin  face,  weather-beaten  evoii 
in  the  lamplight. 

"  How  do  you  do,  Mrs.  Thirlston?  "  Jefferson 
Bromley  said,  raising  his  travelling-cap.  "  Have 
you  come  to  look  after  us?  We  are  in  luck!  " 

"  I'm  your  housekeeper,"  said  the  old  woman 
in  an  educated  voice  that  made  Mary  Trefusis 


148  WANDERING  FIRES 

suddenly  turn  round  on  the  doorstep  to  look  at 
her.  "  I've  been  up  here  a  week,  gathering  pro- 
visions. Please  sort  yourselves,  and  choose  your 
rooms.  Supper  is  quite  ready.  Tom  will  help 
carry  up  the  luggage  with  the  maids. ' ' 

She  stood  aside  in  the  lighted  hall  to  let  the 
weary  company  pass,  but  Mary  Trefusis  hung 
back  and  waited  for  Bromley.  "  Who  is  she?  ' 
she  said.  Something  in  the  voice  and  manner  had 
struck  her  as  the  woman's  face  and  figure  would 
never  have  done,  for  she  was  rather  dowdy,  if  not 
exactly  shabby. 

"  Alicia  Thirlston,"  he  answered  in  a  guarded 
tone.  "  She  used  to  be  on  the  stage,  but  she  does 
not  act  now.  She  is  the  kindest  soul !  I  suppose 
Block  got  her  up  here  to  make  us  comfortable. ' ' 

"  There  is  something  funny  about  her — some- 
thing not  quite  like  the  rest  of — us-."  She  had 
nearly  said  "  you  "  after  that  readjustment  of 
old  levels  in  the  train. 

"  She  was  a  very  distinguished  amateur  once, 
long  before  she  went  on  the  stage.  I  fancy  her 
people  had  money.  She  is  a  gentlewoman,  I  think. 
You  will  like  her. ' ' 

Mary  turned  as  she  went  up  the  easy,  shallow 
stairs  and  looked  back  at  Mrs.  Thirlston,  standing 
in  the  hall  and  seeing  the  luggage  in.  She  was  not 
even  good-looking,  and  she  never  could  have  been ; 
but  she  seemed  to  have  accepted  her  age  and  plain- 
ness alike,  and  not  attempted  to  mitigate  them, 
which  was  rather  restful. 

"  I  believe  I'm  going  to  get  on  with  her  better 
than  anybody,"  she  said  to  herself.  "  Except 
Jeff." 

The  f  armhouse  was  a  large  one,  with  uncarpeted 
passages  and  sparsely-furnished  rooms  that  were 
excellently  clean.  The  principals  and  even  the 


WANDEEING  FIKES  149 

girls  had  separate  rooms,  and  it  was  only 'the 
younger  men  who  were  berthed  together.  When 
the  travellers  straggled  down  after  some  washing 
and  unpacking  they  found  supper  spread  in  a  large 
room  with  a  square  table  that  wrould  accommodate 
everyone,  and  for  this  first  evening  they  took  their 
meal  together,  even  the  property  man  and  the 
stage  hands  who  were  attached  to  the  company. 
But  the  next  day  Mrs.  Thirlston's  tact  made  itself 
felt  in  accommodating  the  cast  at  different  hours, 
so  that  they  did  not  need  to  feed  in  quite  such 
general  order — a  relief  for  the  staff  as  much  as 
for  the  artists. 

Mary  never  remembered  much  of  that  supper, 
or  the  evening  afterwards,  except  that  Bromley 
sat  next  to  her  again  and  gave  her  a  renewed  sense 
of  comfort.  Evidently  there  would  be  no  third- 
class  in  the  farmhouse,  and  she  would  have  the 
advantage  of  his  proximity  as  he  was  actually 
domiciled  under  the  same  roof.  She  did  not  mean 
to  take  advantage,  but  she  had  been  used  to  hav- 
ing life  made  smooth  for  her  restless  feet  without 
considering  who  was  victimised  in  the  process. 
Bromley  took  her  into  the  other  sitting-room  when 
the  meal  was  done,  another  large,  sparsely-fur- 
nished place,  where  they  all  smoked  and  talked 
until  the  lids  began  to  fall  over  her  wide,  weary 
eyes,  and  she  felt  herself  nodding,  when  he  took 
it  upon  himself  to  order  the  girls  to  go  to  bed, 
with  a  laughing  apology  to  Miss  Egan. 

"  Breakfast  is  at  eight,  to  save  the  daylight  if 
it  is  a  fine  day,"  he  said.  "  So  get  all  the  sleep 
you  can.  Is  your  room  comfortable,  Miss  Tre- 
fusis?  " 

"  Anything  would  be  comfortable  to-night.  I 
could  sleep  in  my  trunk!  "  she  yawned,  opening 
her  little  curved  mouth  at  him,  and  showing  two 


150  WANDERING  FIRES 

rows  of  good  teeth  and  a  pink  tongue.  Bromley 
watched  the  lashes  falling  again  on  her  round, 
colourless  cheeks,  and,  taking  her  hands,  lifted 
her  out  of  the  deep  basket-chair. 

"  Not  another  minute!  "  he  said.  Then  his 
voice  dropped  quickly  with  that  facility  of  the 
stage  "  aside."  "  I  would  carry  you  up — but  I 
think  it  wouldn't  be  wise  before  the  boys." 

"  No,  thanks."  She  pulled  herself  together 
with  a  sudden  memory  of  Arnold  Grey's  manner 
in  the  train.  "  Good-night,  Jeff.  Don't  call  me 
Miss  Trefusis.  You're  the  only  one  I  really  know 
here." 

11  I  don't.  That  was  only  for  the  cast.  Let  me 
know  if  you  want  anything — I'm  here  to  be  made 
use  of,  for  you." 

She  looked  up  with  sleepy  gratitude,  thinking 
how  tall  he  was,  and  what  kind  blue  eyes  he  had ; 
and  then  stumbled  up  to  bed  with  Robin  Ward, 
both  of  them  laughing  as  they  leant  against  each 
other  in  mock  exhaustion. 

When  she  reached  her  room  Mary  jerked  the 
blind  up  and  looked  out,  despite  her  weariness. 
There  was  no  light  in  the  room  save  that  of  a 
single  candle,  but  outside  the  world  was  growing 
light  with  a  rising  moon,  the  hunter's  moon  of 
September.  And  for  the  first  time  she  saw  Dart- 
moor. It  seemed  to  lie  all  round  her,  from  the 
low  stone  walls  of  the  farmhouse  garden,  and  to 
stretch  away  into  the  very  heavens.  It  was  dark, 
and  heaped-up  in  strange  broken  edges,  and  like 
no  other  landscape  she  ever  remembered,  but  it 
took  hold  of  her  imagination  with  a  grip  as  hard 
as  its  granite,  so  that  she  dreamed  at  first  of  its 
outlines  and  utter  lack  of  any  habitation.  That 
was  what  made  it  so  weird.  A  sense  of  habitation 
haunted  even  the  highlands  of  Scotland,  where 


WANDERING  FIRES  151 

some  human  foot  might  have  gone  before ;  but  her 
first  impression  of  the  Moor  was  that,  though  man 
had  imposed  himself  upon  it,  it  still  shook  him  off 
and  brooded  in  independent  solitude.  Then,  after 
a  while,  she  dreamed  no  more,  but  slept  deeply. 

The  wind  rose  in  the  night,  so  that  by  morning 
it  was  blowing  grey  rags  of  cloud  in  a  scurry 
across  the  sky,  and  the  heather  rippled  into  claret 
and  blue  before  its  force.  It  was  impossible  to 
take  pictures  in  such  a  gale,  and  if  the  wind 
dropped  the  sky  threatened  rain.  But  the  cast 
were  kept  waiting  about  in  an  irritating  uncer- 
tainty that  was  worse  than  it  had  been  in  London, 
where  work  could  generally  be  done  in  the  studio 
at  least.  Had  Block  himself  been  present  it  is 
probable  that  he  would  have  decided  that  the  light 
was  hopeless  from  the  first,  and  proclaimed  a  holi- 
day; but  his  nephew  was  young  enough  to  strain 
the  cords  of  authority  and  keep  his  company  on 
leash. 

11  Oh,  let's  go  out  and  explore  the  Moor  any- 
way! "  said  Mary  impatiently  to  Ellen  Grey,  as 
they  stood  at  the  square  window  of  the  sitting- 
room.  Beyond  was  a  vision  of  sparse  cabbages 
and  a  potato-patch  bounded  by  the  low  stone  wall 
that  took  the  place  of  hedge  or  fencing.  It  was 
not  an  encouraging  prospect  by  day,  but  the  youth 
in  her  demanded  action. 

11  But  we  can't,"  said  Ellen,  with  the  passive 
resignation  taught  by  working  years.  ' '  When  we 
are  away  for  outdoor  work  like  this  we  may  none 
of  us  go  out  of  bounds  without  permission." 

11  What  is  out  of  bounds?  " 

*  *  Well,  beyond  recall.  Last  time  we  were  up  in 
the  Lake  Country  the  men  were  mostly  billeted  at 
cottages,  and  the  women  were  in  a  smaller  house 
than  this.  But  even  Mr.  Bromley  had  to  come  up 


152  WANDERING  FIRES 

to  the  house  for  the  orders  for  the  day,  and  if  he 
went  for  a  walk  it  must  be  somewhere  where  a 
messenger  could  find  him." 

"  It  seems  to  me  we  might  as  well  be  prisoners. 
Are  we  never  free?  ' 

11  Oh,  yes — when  the  light  is  hopeless,  or  we 
have  done  work  for  the  day.  We  had  some  jolly 
excursions  at  the  Lakes." 

Mary  looked  at  the  sober  dark  face  again  with 
the  same  curiosity  she  had  felt  in  the  train.  She 
wondered  if  Nell  Grey  had  ever  had  a  "  good 
time  "  such  as  girls  like  herself  took  as  their 
right,  or  even  Robin  Ward  on  a  lower  grade.  Nell 
seemed  too  self-contained  to  enjoy  life  with  the 
rush  of  the  age,  too  reserved  to  want  a  man  con- 
stantly in  tow  as  Robin  might  have  done,  or,  per- 
haps— herself. 

1 '  Was  your  brother  with  you  then  f  ' '  she  asked. 

11  No." 

"  Was  Jeff  Bromley?  " 

"Yes." 

' '  I  thought  he  was  in  the  army  too. ' ' 

"Yes." 

"  Was  he  invalided  out?  " 

"  Yes." 

There  was  nothing  to  be  made  out  of  the  mono- 
syllables— nothing  but  the  fact  that  Jeff  Bromley 
had  been  with  the  cinema  company  at  the  Lakes 
when  they  had  such  *  *  jolly  times. ' '  But  Mary  was 
a  woman,  with  a  woman's  sixth  sense  of  intuition. 
She  stopped  swinging  the  blindcord  against  the 
window-pane  with  a  monotonous  thud,  and  turned 
away. 

"  Well,  if  we  can't  go  out  till  the  producer  has 
made  up  his  mind  that  it  is  going  to  rain,  I  shall 
get  something  to  do." 

The  young  men  were  standing  at  the  open  front 


WANDERING  FIEES  153 

door,  smoking,  and  looking  disconsolately  at  the 
weather.  They  turned  as  Mary  crossed  the  nar- 
row hall  or  passage,  and  called  out  to  her,  but  she 
did  not  join  them.  She  went  in  search  of  the 
housekeeper  to  know  if  she  could  have  more  towels 
in  her  room,  the  meagre  quantity  provided  rousing 
rebellion  in  a  soul  that  looked  upon  soap  and  water 
as  its  birthright.  Mrs.  Thirlston  was  in  a  small 
room,  at  the  back  of  the  house,  where  she  seemed 
to  keep  the  weekly  accounts  and  mend  for  every 
masculine  member  of  the  company.  A  mixed  pile 
of  pyjamas,  socks,  shirts,  and  even  more  intimate 
garments  stood  at  her  elbow,  while  she  busily 
sorted  letters. 

"  Come  in,  my  dear,"  she  said,  looking  up 
through  a  pair  of  tortoiseshell  spectacles  that 
made  her  look  like  anybody's  grandmother.  "  The 
post  has  only  just  got  up  here  from  Two  Bridges. 
Which  are  you?  ' 

"  Mary  Trefusis,"  said  Mary,  leaning  against 
the  laden  table  and  holding  out  her  hand  for  her 
mail.  "  Mrs.  Thirlston,  can  I  have  some  more 
towels?  I  simply  can't  get  dry  on  the  dusters  the 
housemaid  has  given  me !  ' 

1 1  I  think  so — we  are  rather  short,  and  I  warned 
Mr.  Block  I  might  have  to  supplement  from 
Plymouth.  Trefusis — Trefusis — here  you  are." 
She  looked  up  at  Mary  through  the  tortoiseshell 
glasses  and  her  eyes  were  quite  green.  They 
struck  Mary  as  unusual  amongst  the  greys,  and 
blues,  and  blue-greys  of  so  many  Englishwomen, 
but  by  no  means  beautiful  for  that.  *  *  Is  Trefusis 
by  any  chance  your  real  name?  "  said  the  house- 
keeper. "  I  should  not  ask  such  an  impertinent 
question  but  that  I  used  to  know  some  of  the 
tribe." 

' '  Yes,  it  is. "   A  new  interest  dawned  in  Mary 's 


154  WANDERING  FIRES 

lovely  eyes,  and  she  looked  at  Mrs.  Thirlston  anew 
by  the  light  of  Bromley's  statement.  "  Her  peo- 
ple used  to  have  money.  She  is  a  gentlewoman,  I 
think."  The  two  things  did  not  necessarily  con- 
nect, but  they  might  have  given  Mrs.  Thirlston  a 
different  environment.  "  Who  was  it  you  knew?  " 
she  said. 

"  Lady  Alex  Ratrick — her  sister  married  a 
Trefusis — Captain  Trefusis " 

' '  Yes,  she  was  my  mother — he  was  my  father !  ' ' 
said  Mary  breathlessly. 

"  Poker  Trefusis?  " 

"  Yes.    When  did  you  know  Aunt  Alex?  ' 

"  Centuries  ago — when  I  was  a  young  woman. 
We  used  to  act  together.  She  was  mad  about 
private  theatricals  at  one  time.  Did  you  know?  ' 

11  She  is  always  mad  about  something,"  said 
Mary  carelessly.  "  She  kills  a  hobby  a  year." 
Her  voice  trailed  off  absently  as  she  looked  at 
her  letters.  There  was  one  from  Eddie  Thorne. 
"  Would  you  mind  if  I  read  my  mail  here?  "  she 
said.  Mrs.  Thirlston  promised  interest  when  the 
immediate  excitement  of  her  correspondence  was 
over;  she  did  not  want  to  let  her  go,  and  return 
to  the  dull  sitting-room,  where  everybody  would 
be  talking  about  pictures,  and  light,  and  the  possi- 
bilities of  filming  a  book  they  were  all  reading. 
Quite  suddenly  Mary  felt  that  so  much  "  shop  " 
bored  her,  and  she  wanted  a  respite.  Perhaps  it 
was  Eddie's  letter,  or  the  one  from  Clare  Car- 
penter which  she  now  recognised. 

"  Certainly,"  said  Mrs.  Thirlston  courteously. 
"  Won't  you  have  that  chair?  I  must  just  dis- 
tribute the  rest  of  the  letters  or  I  shall  get  into 
trouble.  On  a  dull  morning  like  this  the  post  is 
of  far  more  importance  than  the  National  Debt !  ' ' 

"  But  you  are  coming  back?  " 


WANDERING  FIRES  155 

11  Oh,  yes,  I  am  coming  back."  The  old  lady 
smiled  rather  queerly,  as  if  she  recognised  that 
sentence  and  had  heard  it  often  before.  She  was 
certainly  plain;  but,  despite  her  long  upper  lip 
and  her  green  eyes,  Mary  could  conceive  that  other 
girls  had  viewed  her  departure  with  disfavour. 
She  was  not  quite  so  sure  about  the  men. 

The  door  closed  behind  Mrs.  Thirlston  for  the 
nonce,  and  Mary  sat  down  in  the  rocking-chair  to 
read  Thome's  letter.  It  was  rather  brief,  but 
quite  cheery,  and  recalled  him  so  vividly  that  she 
could  almost  fancy  him  in  the  room,  talking  to 
her. 

"  DEAE  MOLLY, 

* '  Well,  how  goes  it  I  Hope  you  are  fit  and  well. 
I  like  the  photo  very  much.  Many  thanks.  It  just 
appeals  to  me.  But  it  is  perfectly  horrid  of  you 
not  to  have  sent  me  your  address.  By  that  I  pre- 
sume that  you  do  not  want  me  to  write  to  you? 
When  you  have  time,  write,  but  leave  out  your 
address  if  you  wish  it."  ("  Idiot!  "  said  Mary. 
"  How  could  I  send  you  the  address  when  I  didn't 
know  it  myself  ?  ' '  She  looked  at  the  envelope  and 
the  date  on  the  letter,  and  saw  that  it  had  followed 
her  from  Laurel  Lodge  to  the  studio,  where  it  had 
apparently  waited  some  days.)  "  There  is  half  a 
chance — not  half  a  one — of  my  coming  down  West 
this  month.  If  so,  on  the  offchance  of  finding  you, 
I  will  write  to  Roehampton  and  put  '  Forward  ' 
on  the  envelope.  Shall  know  for  certain  on  Satur- 
day and  if  I  am  coming  will  drop  a  line.  Do  let 
me  have  news  of  you,  there's  a  dear.  Hope  you 
will  have  a  good  time  on  Dartmoor.  So  long,  and 
the  best  of  luck. 

"  Yours  ever, 

"  EDDIE." 


156      .  WANDERING  FIRES 

So  Eddie  might  be  coining!  Her  heart  gaye  a 
bound  to  meet  him,  and  her  volatile  fancy  invested 
him  with  ties  of  that  surrendered  life  that  had 
infected  her  anew  since  yesterday  and  the  associa- 
tion with  Mrs.  Thirlston.  She  wondered  if  he 
would  come  West,  or  if  it  were  only  a  wish 
prompted  by  writing  to  her?  In  some  ways  she 
knew  Eddie  Thorne  better  than  many  of  his  older 
friends  did.  "  Just  writing  to  me  would  remind 
him,  and  make  him  think  he  must  see  me,"  she 
thought.  "  How  suspicious  he  is!  All  that  non- 
sense about  my  not  wanting  to  write  to  him  be- 
cause I  didn't  give  him  this  address!  That's  like 
Eddie.  Some  woman  has  let  him  down  at  some 
time!  " 

She  opened  Mrs.  Carpenter's  letter,  a  long  one 
full  of  gossip  of  places  and  people  passed  out  of 
her  life,  and  dated  more  recently  than  Thome's. 
Mrs.  Thirlston  had  come  back  into  the  room,  and 
was  quietly  putting  the  buttons  on  to  Jeff  Brom- 
ley's pyjamas,  wrenched  off  by  an  antagonistic 
laundress.  The  sheets  of  the  letter  rustled  behind 
her  while  she  folded  up  Jeff  Bromley,  and  took  up 
a  pair  of  socks  for  Percy  Cunningham,  who 
seemed  to  walk  through  them  with  his  toes  rather 
than  his  heels.  Suddenly  she  heard  a  little  ex- 
clamation of  dismay  behind  her,  almost  like  a  cry. 
"  Oh,  poor  Eddie!  "  and  turned  round,  peering 
at  Mary  Trefusis  with  her  green  eyes  over  the 
spectacles. 

"  Bad  news?  ' 

"  Yes,  very,  I'm  afraid — for  somebody  else. 
Did  you  know  the  Thornes  of  Upcott,  Mrs.  Thirl- 
ston? " 

1  *  Some  of  them.  A  generation  before  your  day, 
I  expect.  Old  Thorne  was  about  my  contempo- 
rary." 


WANDERING  FIRES  157 

"  Yes,  that  would  be  the  father,  I  suppose.  I 
don't  know  Eddie's  people.  One  of  the  sons  is  a 
friend  of  mine." 

"  Which?  Edward  or  Richard?  "  said  Mrs. 
Thirlston  unexpectedly. 

"  Eddie  Thorne.  He  married  the  Russian 
dancer  Petrova,  and  she  has  run  away  from  him 
with  another  man — a  colonel  of  Cossacks. ' '  Mary 
was  turning  back  the  sheets  of  Mrs.  Carpenter's 
letter  to  find  the  exact  information.  Her  eyes 
were  tragic  and  infinitely  lovely  with  distress. 
"  Poor  Eddie !  he  will  be  nearly  mad.  ..." 

"  Is  it  a  misfortune — otherwise?  " 

"  I  don't  know  her — but  he  was  infatuated  with 
her.  I  saw  them  at  the  Savoy  before  I  left  Lon- 
don, and  I've  never  forgotten  it.  His  face  ...  he 
looked  so  different.  Poor  Eddie!  " 

Mrs.  Thirlston  held  the  neglected  sock  in  her 
hands  the  while  she  looked  at  Mary  Trefusis  with 
contemplative  eyes.  The  beauty  of  the  girl's 
clear,  vivid  face  was  softened  to  a  tender  grief  as 
if  this  sordid  tragedy  of  a  man's  headlong  mar- 
riage were  a  personal  matter  to  her.  "  But  it 
isn't  a  personal  matter,  like  that,"  said  Alicia 
Thirlston  shrewdly  to  herself.  "  She  is  just  fret- 
ting over  him  as  his  mother  might  do.  I  wonder 
if  the  young  scamp  realises  his  good  luck !  Thorne 
of  Upcott — the  name  is  enough  to  tell  its  own  tale, 
but  she  does  not  know  that."  Aloud  she  said; 
"  Is  this -a  recent  thing?  " 

' '  Oh,  it  must  be — within  the  last  few  days.  Be- 
cause I  have  a  letter  from  him  here,  just  as  usual. 
It  was  dated  before  the  other  that  brought  me  the 
news,  of  course." 

11  Who  tells  you  the  news?    Is  she  reliable?  " 

"  Quite.    She  is  in  the  midst  of  everything." 

"  Tell  me   about   Eddie   Thorne,"   said   Mrs. 


158  WANDERING  FIEES 

Thirlston,  going  back  quietly  to  the  sock.    * '  Why 
do  you  think  this  will  be  a  knock-out  blow?  " 

11  Because  Eddie  doesn't  take  things  like  other 
men.  He  isn't  puddingy  enough.  Don't  you  know 
how  most  men  seem  to  have  a  pudding  surface 
for  trouble  that  just  lets  it  sink  into  them  and  get 
absorbed?  Eddie  isn't  like  that — that  was  why  I 
liked  him  from  the  first." 

("  She  did  like  him  from  the  first,"  mused  Mrs. 
Thirlston.  "  She  knew  she  liked  him.  If  she 
didn't,  there  might  be  some  danger.  I  don't  think 
she  knows  she  likes  Jeff  Bromley.") 

The  housekeeper  moved  an  old-fashioned  foot- 
stool forward  with  her  foot,  as  if  by  accident,  and 
Mary  jumped  up  quickly  and  took  the  low  seat, 
her  hands  clasped  round  her  knees  and  her  letters 
still  in  her  lap. 

11  Eddie  says  I  shall  follow  wandering  fires — 
and  always  come  back  to  him,"  she  said  with  ap- 
parent irrelevance.  But  Mrs.  Thirlston  waited 
for  the  connection  of  ideas,  and  glancing  through 
her  great  glasses  saw  that  Mary's  irresistible  up- 
per lip  had  lifted  to  show  her  teeth  in  laughter. 
"  I  always  do  come  back  to  him,  in  thought  at 
least.  He's  so  much  himself!  What  does  it  mat- 
ter what  he  does?  " 

"  Oh,  so  he  does,  then!  " 

"  I  daresay  his  wife  had  her  point  of  view.  Per- 
haps she  regretted  marrying  him,  and  had  to  get 
out  of  it,  some  way. ' ' 

' '  I  never  knew  the  woman  who  regretted  marry- 
ing a  rake,"  said  Mrs.  Thirlston  from  the  wisdom 
of  many  years.  l '  I  have  known  women  who  mar- 
ried good,  straight  men,  and  lived  with  them  for 
life  quite  successfully — but  in  their  hearts  they 
knew  the  loss  of  adventure,  though  they  dared  not 
own  to  it.  It 's  the  sinners  who  never  bore  you. ' ' 


WANDERING  FIKES  159 

"  They  might  make  you  very  unhappy!  "  said 
Mary  doubtfully. 

* '  I  should  be  far  more  unhappy  if  I  were  bored ! 
— But  I  never  married,  so  I  Ve  no  right  to  speak. ' ' 

11  Never  married,  Mrs.  Thirlston?  ' 

"  No,  my  dear.  Not  even  unofficially.  I  am 
Miss  Thirlston  really.  I  bought  a  wedding  ring 
and  made  myself  a  widow  long  ago,  because  I 
found  that  it  gave  me  a  better  position.  There  is 
much  dignity  in  a  man's  choice  of  you,  to  the  world 
at  least." 

The  face  of  the  girl  sitting  at  her  feet  was  full 
of  meditation  that  would  have  made  her  family 
exceedingly  uneasy.  When  Mary  found  a  new 
point  of  view,  and  played  with  it,  happenings  were 
likely  to  follow. 

"  That's  an  awfully  good  idea!  "  she  said.  "  It 
seems  to  me  that  you  get  most  of  the  good  out  of 
marriage  without  any  bother — and — and  you  are 
so  independent." 

' '  Yes — but  it 's  not  a  safe  game  under  fifty.  If 
a  girl  like  you  became  Mrs.  Jones  at  her  own 
pleasure,  people  would  be  too  interested  in  the  late 
Mr.  Jones  to  let  him  rest  in  his  grave,  poor  man ! 
They  would  want  to  exhume,  and  then  they  would 
find  the  coffin  full  of  stones." 

"  I  shan't  wait  for  fifty  to  do  as  I  like,  even 
though  I  don't  marry.  Mrs.  Thirlston,  do  you 
see  any  wrong  in  co-habitation  ?  ' ' 

"  None  whatever,  so  long  as  you  are  prepared 
to  face  the  consequences.  Where  the  immorality 
comes  in,  it  seems  to  me,  is  that  people  always 
try  to  cheat. ' ' 

11  Not  to  be  found  out?  That's  the  world's 
fault,  for  censure." 

"  Not  entirely.  When  people  marry,  openly, 
they  undertake  to  live  together,  to  put  up  with  the 


160  WANDERING  FIEES 

friction  of  every  day,  to  stand  it  for  many  long 
and  dreadful  years  perhaps,  even  to  the  end  of 
life.  And  then  there  may  be  children,  and  the  man 
has  responsibilities  he  cannot  shirk  any  more  than 
his  wife.  Now  in  the  other  case,  the  man  and 
woman  are  stealing  something  to  which  they  have 
no  right.  They  want  all  the  advantages  of  mar- 
ried life  and  none  of  its  drawbacks.  And  they 
generally  get  them  too,  and  so  a  man  thinks  of  his 
mistress  as  one  of  his  pleasures  and  his  wife  as 
one  of  his  duties,  as  like  as  not.'* 

"  But  if  you  face  it  out?  " 

"  Ah!  that's  different.  There  is  tragedy  there, 
and  perhaps  a  worse  mistake ;  but  not  cowardice, 
and  not  a  lie.  I  have  a  sneaking  respect  for  Mr. 
Thorne  's  wife. ' ' 

"  You  wouldn't  if  you  knew  Eddie.  It  must 
have  been  a  blow  between  the  eyes." 

"  I  suppose  he  thought  himself  invulnerable," 
said  Mrs.  Thirlston  as  she  looked  pensively  at  the 
bright  blue  shirt  belonging  to  Mr.  Norreys.  It 
did  not  appeal  to  her,  and  the  wicked  thought  of 
bundling  it  into  the  fire  did. 

"  No,  Eddie  hasn't  an  atom  of  conceit — he 
thinks  far  too  little  of  his  chances.  But  he's  the 
vainest  man  I  know." 

*  *  This  flight  of  hers  will  be  a  blow  to  his  vanity, 
then?  " 

*  *  Yes,  and  I  think  he  will  hardly  know  whether 
his  love  or  his  self-love  is  the  more  wounded.    I 
can't  bear  to  think  of  him  alone " 

"  Hasn't  he  friends?  A  man  like  that  is  gener- 
ally full  of  friends !" 

"  They  don't  understand  him  as  I  do,"  said 
Mary.  She  spoke  with  the  blatant  certainty  of  her 
youth.  "  I  wish  I  were  up  in  town.  I  could  get 


WANDERING  FIRES  161 

him  to  talk  to  me.  He  won't  talk  to  other  people — 
he  '11  only  go  the  pace. ' ' 

Mrs.  Thirlston  shook  her  head.  "  I  don't  think 
you  would  do  much  talking.  You  would  hold  his 
hand  to  steady  him,  and  then  he  would  tell  you 
the  rest  with  his  head  on  your  shoulder !  And  it 
wouldn't  mean  that  he  was  any  the  less  in  love 
with  his  wife,  or  had  got  over  it.  Only,  it  compli- 
cates the  situation." 

"  You  might  have  known  Eddie  yourself!  " 

Mrs.  Thirlston  smiled.  She  did  not  say  what 
she  thought,  which  was  that  some  woman  would 
do  all  that  she  had  suggested,  even  though  it  was 
not  Mary  Trefusis. 

"  At  all  events,  I  am  sure  Mr.  Thome  would 
not  wear  a  violently  blue  shirt!  "  she  remarked 
enigmatically,  holding  up  the  finished  garment  be- 
fore Mary's  sweet,  astonished  eyes.  "  I  know 
that  in  cinema  work  you  have  to  wear  blue  instead 
of  white  in  bright  sunshine,  to  avoid  halation ;  but 
there  are  more  subtle  shades.  There  must  be 
something  very  wrong  with  a  man  who  dresses  like 
a  comic  song. ' ' 

"  Whose  is  it?    Not  Mr.  Cunningham's?  ' 

1  *  Mr.  Norreys '.  Why  did  you  hope  it  was  Percy 
Cunningham's?  " 

"  I  didn't  hope  it  was  anybody's — it  is  too  aw- 
ful." But  Mary  had  the  grace  to  blush.  "  I  wish 
I  could  just  show  him  Eddie  as  a  revelation  of 
how  a  man  ought  to  dress." 

"  Is  he  so  smart?  " 

"  He's  a  bit  of  a  nib — all  round." 

"  Mr.  Norreys  hopes  he  is,  too,"  said  Mrs. 
Thirlston  dryly,  laying  down  the  offending  shirt 
with  a  shudder.  "  And  Mr.  Cunningham  is  sure 
of  it  with  regard  to  himself." 


162  WANDERING  FIRES 

"  There's  only  one  man  in  the  crowd  who  is  all 
right,  and  that  is  Mr.  Bromley." 

"  Has  Mr.  Bromley  ever  met  Mr.  Thome?  ' 
said  Mrs.  Thirlston  suddenly,  but  her  voice  was  as 
ordinary  as  if  she  were  still  discussing  the  appear- 
ance of  the  cinema  company. 

"  Once " 

"  Did  they  like  each  other?  " 

"  I— think  so." 

"  "Would  they  like  each  other  now?  " 

Mary  laughed,  met  the  comprehending  green 
eyes,  and  would  not  answer.  She  knew  quite  well 
what  Bromley's  mental  attitude  was  with  regard 
to  Thorne,  through  his  objecting  to  her  own  debt 
to  Eddie.  As  to  Thorne,  he  had  probably  for- 
gotten the  actor's  personality. 

The  pile  of  wounded  clothes  beside  Mrs.  Thirl- 
ston was  gradually  reduced  to  one  garment  as  the 
morning  drifted  away ;  but  when  Bromley  knocked 
at  the  door  at  half -past  twelve  he  interrupted  the 
same  tableau — the  girl  sitting  on  her  low  stool 
with  her  hands  clasped  round  her  knees,  and  the 
old  woman  mending — mending — as  if  she  would 
patch  up  the  rents  in  men's  and  women's  lives 
with  her  quiet  needle  the  same  as  in  their 
clothes. 

"  Oh,  here  you  are!  "  said  Jeff's  aggrieved 
voice  as  he  came  over  and  sat  on  the  edge  of  the 
table.  "  I've  looked  for  you  everywhere — except 
in  the  right  place.  There's  no  chance  of  work  to- 
day, Mary,  and  we  can  get  out  this  afternoon.  I  'm 
afraid  it's  too  late  this  morning."  He  glanced 
regretfully  at  the  window. 

Mary  gathered  up  some  loose  letters  lying  in  her 
lap  and  looked  at  him  with  strange  moist  eyes  that 
seemed  to  have  wandered  a  long  way  off.  "  It 
doesn't  matter,"  she  said.  "  I've  been  talking  to 


WANDERING  FIEES  163 

Mrs.  Tliirlston — I  hope  I  haven't  bored  you,  Mrs. 
Thirlston?  " 

"  I  am  never  bored  with  men  and  women,  or 
their  lives,"  said  the  housekeeper.  "  Thank  you, 
my  dear.  Come  and  talk  to  me  again  whenever 
you  have  time." 

Mary  turned  to  Bromley  with  a  face  that  was 
changing  already.  ' '  Do  take  me  out  after  lunch  1  * ' 
she  said.  "  I  feel  I  shall  die  if  I  don't  get  into  the 
fresh  air  and  have  the  wind  blow  my  hair  about. ' ' 

"  Well,  if  you  hadn't  crept  under  Mrs.  Thirl- 
ston's  skirts  and  hidden  for  hours,  I  could  have 
taken  you  out  before,"  said  Jeff  resentfully.  But 
she  shook  her  pretty  head. 

"  I  wasn't  ready  before.  I  hadn't  talked  it  out," 
she  said  enigmatically.  "  If  I  hadn't  used  Mrs. 
Thirlston  as  a  safety-valve  I  should  have  rushed 
back  to  London — I  know  I  should." 

"  And  left  us  all  in  the  lurch?  " 

Bromley's  quick,  reproachful  voice  was  accen- 
tuated in  his  blue  eyes.  Mary  looked  at  him,  and 
then  at  Mrs.  Thirlston  over  her  shoulder. 

"  Isn't  he  a  dear?  "  she  said  airily.  "  Mrs. 
Thirlston  says  she  knows  you  quite  well,  Jeff ;  I'm 
going  to  wangle  your  past  out  of  her." 

They  left  the  room,  laughing.  But  Alicia  Thirl- 
ston, as  she  bit  off  her  thread  and  put  down  the 
last  piece  of  mending,  felt  as  if  she  knew  con- 
siderably more  of  Eddie  Thorne  than  of  Jeff 
Bromley. 


CHAPTER  IX 

4  (  T  SAW  him  in  the  train,  coming  down, '  *  one 
man  said  to  another  as  they  entered  the 
paddock  at  Newmarket.  "  He's  taking 
it  hardly." 

"  Why  the  deuce  does  he  come  here  where 
everybody  knows  him?  Thome's  been  a  racing 
man  in  and  out  of  the  saddle — it 's  like  advertising 
his  disaster." 

* '  Pluck — or  else  damned  folly !  ' '  said  the  other 
with  a  shrug.  "  To  tell  the  truth,  I  don't  think 
he  quite  knows  what  he's  about.  He's  been  mad 
since  she  left  him  for  Dubrowski.  He  never  gets 
drunk,  but  he's  on  the  drink  now.  Here  comes 
Lady  Jane.  Look  out  for  her  heels !  ' ' 

They  both  laughed  as  the  much-fancied  mare 
made  a  dancing  slide  that  cleared  the  space  im- 
mediately round  her,  and  caused  her  trainer  an 
anxious  moment  lest  an  accident  should  betide 
just  before  the  big  race  was  run.  Farringdon  was 
favourite  for  the  Cambridgeshire,  but  Lady  Jane 
had  been  heavily  backed  by  the  stable  on  the 
strength  of  her  having  run  well  at  Ascot. 

"  Have  you  anything  on  her?  ' 

"  No — the  course  is  like  asphalt,  and  she  doesn't 
like  hard  going." 

"  It  rained  last  week." 

"  Not  enough  to  do  any  good  at  Newmarket. 

You  want  a  fortnight 's  rain  to Hulloa,  Eddie, 

how  goes  it?  " 

The  man  they  had  been  discussing  was  walking 

164 


WANDERING  FIRES  165 

past  with  the  owner  of  Farringdon,  in  rapid  con- 
versation with  him.  His  face  looked  as  if  it  had 
been  passed  through  some  inward  furnace  at  white 
heat,  and  become  a  fine-drawn  likeness  of  itself. 
He  did  not  look  dissipated  so  much  as  battered, 
and  the  fine  red  and  brown  of  his  usual  open-air 
life  was  still  on  his  skin.  It  was  his  eyes  that  were 
seared  until  they  were  rather  horrible,  both  in  ex- 
pression and  the  tell-tale  lines  about  them — his 
eyes  and  the  closely-folded  lips  beneath  the  little 
clipped  moustache.  He  was  as  quietly  smart  as 
any  man  present — Eddie  never  overdressed — and 
yet  he  gave  the  impression  of  having  been  up  all 
night  and  of  having  a  fever  tongue. 

"  If  you  want  a  tip  I've  heard  that  Blandois  is 
a  dead  cert, ' '  he  said,  pausing  by  his  two  acquaint- 
ances, and  speaking  in  the  confidential  tone  that 
men  use  who  give  racing  news. 

* '  Why,  he 's  a  rank  outside !  * ' 

"  Twenty-five  to  one." 

"  This  is  worse  than  Romeo." 

"  Well,  I've  told  you  for  what  it's  worth.  I'm 
going  to  have  a  monkey  on. ' '  He  turned  away. 

11  Wait  a  bit,  Thorne — you've  worn  silk  at  many 
meetings,  haven 't  you  ?  What 's  the  course  like  ?  ' ' 

"  Hard  as  iron,  in  this  sort  of  weather.  A  horse 
that  carries  any  top  can't  stick  it.  The  lighter 
they  travel  the  more  chance." 

"  This  Blandois?    A  French  horse?  " 

"  Yes,  a  bit  light.    But  he  likes  hard  going." 

He  moved  on  then,  leaving  the  other  men  to  go 
and  get  what  odds  they  could  on  the  outsider,  if 
they  thought  fit.  He  had  spoken  steadily,  from  a 
mechanical  knowledge  gained  in  the  last  half -hour. 
But  as  he  left  them  he  wondered  what  he  had  been 
saying.  For  in  truth  he  did  not  know.  The  little 
things  that  flitted  in  and  out  of  his  life  now  had  no 


166  WANDERING  FIRES 

reality.  Nothing  was  real  save  the  one  hard  fact 
of  his  outraged  honour — the  centrifugal  force  of 
the  machinery,  driving  all  the  lesser  wheels  of 
everyday  happenings — night  and  day,  sleep  and 
food,  social  intercourse,  this  coming  down  to  see 
the  Cambridgeshire  run  because  he  had  always 
attended  the  big  race  meetings  and  it  would  look 
as  if  he  dared  not  face  his  world.  .  .  . 

He  left  the  paddock  after  some  more  conversa- 
tion with  trainers,  owners,  men  whom  he  knew 
and  did  not  know,  that  he  did  not  remember  and 
that  did  not  matter.  As  he  went  out  of  the  gate 
to  the  stands  he  was  caught  by  a  party  of  people 
who  had  lunched  on  the  course,  and  persuaded  him 
to  come  back  to  the  bar.  More  champagne — he 
had  had  champagne  at  luncheon,  but  it  seemed 
that  his  head  could  carry  any  amount.  "  Come 
back  and  have  a  liqueur  after  the  race,  Eddie. 
We've  got  a  bottle, of  the  real  old  Chartreuse  in 
the  car — worth  its  weight  in  gold — and  brandy." 
A  woman  smiled  and  pressed  his  hand,  perhaps 
in  pity!  She  had  paint  on  her  face.  He  hated 
paint.  And  he  remembered,  in  a  vague  fashion, 
that  Molly  Trefusis  never  used  it,  though  so  many 
young  girls  did  now.  Chic.  But  not  even  powder 
with  Molly.  He  remembered  kissing  her — some- 
where— and  the  dewy  softness  of  her  skin.  He 
had  only  done  it  once.  Pity  .  .  . 

Back  to  the  stand,  and  by  good  luck  a  good 
place.  He  could  not  see  the  start,  but  he  raised  his 
glasses  and  his  hands  were  not  quite  steady.  The 
bell  rang.  They  were  off  now — he  could  see  them 
strung  out  across  the  course.  Blandois  was  lying 
fourth.  He  had  plunged  on  the  French  horse  far 
more  than  he  had  admitted.  Farringdon  was  cut- 
ting out  the  pace.  It  was  too  good  to  last.  But 
it  looked  a  sure  thing  for  the  favourite.  His  heart 


WANDERING  FIRES  167 

beat  too  fast  in  the  fear  that  he  might  have  backed 
Blandois  over-heavily,  and  the  life  he  had  been 
leading  revenged  itself  on  him  in  a  shaken  nerve. 
For  even  an  athletic  man  cannot  stand  the  racket 
of  a  racing  life — the  constant  excitement,  the 
champagne  lunches,  and  the  liqueurs  to  keep  up 
your  spirits — if  he  is  highly-strung.  .  .  . 

Suddenly  it  all  faded  out  before  him — the  far 
course  with  the  pigmy  horses  moving  so  mechan- 
ically, like  toys,  the  crowd  down  below,  the  crowd 
in  the  stand — there  was  nothing  but  Petrova's 
averted  face  as  she  lay  in  bed  in  the  nursing- 
home.  He  saw  the  full  curve  of  her  white  cheek, 
and  the  heavy  jaw,  and  the  rope  of  fairish  hair 
over  her  shoulder.  ' '  We  have  made  a  knot  and  a 
tangle  of  our  love.  But  I  will  find  us  a  way  out." 
She  had  found  a  way  out,  with  Dubrowski.  He 
saw  her  in  another  man's  arms,  and  his  face  was 
momentarily  convulsed,  there  on  the  stand  at  New- 
market, while  the  Cambridgeshire  was  being  run. 
He  had  never  struck  a  woman,  but  as  he  visaged 
her  with  Dubrowski  he  felt  as  if  he  could  have  hit 
her  in  his  fury.  .  .  . 

Then  the  mist  cleared  again,  and  he  was  still 
looking,  and  the  favourite  was  leading,  Lady  Jane 
fighting  hard  for  second  place,  while  Blandois  had 
improved  his  position  to  third.  Even  as  he  looked 
Farringdon  swerved,  the  mare  passed  him,  and  in 
the  next  second  it  seemed  that  the  French  horse 
was  gaining  an  advantage  and  increasing  it.  His 
lightness  told.  More  heavily-topped  animals  fell 
behind,  and  the  ring  began  to  shriek,  ' i  Blandois ! 
Blandois!  "  while  a  curious  stillness  fell  on  the 
crowd. 

Eddie  saw  his  horse  come  in  first,  and  dropped 
the  glasses  back  in  the  case,  wondering  what  it  was 
all  about.  Not  a  popular  victory.  He  had  won  a 


168  WANDERING  FIEES 

good  deal  of  money.  .  .  .  Better  get  on  to  Monte 
Carlo  and  spend  it  there.  This  was  no  good.  No 
forgetting.  His  eyes  looked  like  dull  velvet,  in- 
stead of  their  usual  dance,  and  a  woman  who  had 
been  going  to  recognise  him  drew  back,  a  little 
frightened.  "  Perhaps  I  had  better  not,"  she 
thought.  "  It  is  Eddie  Thorne.  And  his  wife  ran 
away  from  him  last  week — was  it  last  week?  Why 
does  he  come  out  here  I  He  looks  just  the  same — 
only,  his  eyes  .  .  ." 

Thorne  went  out  of  the  stand  without  waiting 
for  the  next  race,  though  he  had  money  on  it. 
Somebody  had  offered  him  a  drink.  Oh,  those  peo- 
ple who  had  the  old  Chartreuse  in  their  car !  He 
wanted  it,  after  the  excitement  of  the  race.  He 
drank  it  standing  with  his  foot  on  the  step,  laugh- 
ing and  being  congratulated  on  his  winnings.  His 
hand  lay  over  the  lady's  with  the  painted  face; 
but  he  did  not  care  now.  Old  Chartreuse  was  very 
good  if  you  could  get  it — one  or  two  glasses.  .  .  . 
They  asked  him  to  dine.  No,  he  didn't  think  he 
would  dine.  They  were  staying  at  the  Savoy. 
More  champagne  and  one  or  two  liqueurs  would 
mean  .  .  .  and  the  woman  painted.  He  hated 
paint.  .  .  .  He  wished  Molly  Trefusis  were  in 
town.  He  would  have  taken  her  out,  and  given 
her  too  much  to  drink  .  .  . 

' '  A  bottle  of  fizz  and  two  liqueurs  have  always 
made  my  girls  forget  mamma's  advice,  or  it 
wasn't  to  be  done!  "  thought  Eddie  jauntily.  He 
believed  in  wine.  If  a  wroman  wouldn't  love  you 
after  champagne  she  was  never  going  to.  He  could 
not  remember  getting  anything  in  cool  blood,  and 
he  would  not  have  believed  in  it  if  he  had.  Ex- 
cept .  .  . 

Yes,  he  had  believed  in  Petrova.  She  had  sworn 
to  him  that  she  loved  him — that  he  was  the  only 


WANDERING  FIRES  169 

one.  Wasn't  that  worth  having?  He  craved  the 
more  for  single-hearted  devotion  from  a  woman, 
knowing  that  he  could  never  give  it  to  her  himself. 
Well,  his  wife  had  paid  him  back  in  his  own  coin 
.  .  .  with  Dubrowski.  .  .  .  The  whole  thing  swept 
back  over  him  again  in  the  midst  of  the  boisterous 
laughter,  and  the  drink,  and  the  excitement.  His 
wife — the  woman  he  had  rather  piteously  loved — 
in  another  man's  arms.  Intolerable.  It  gave  him 
the  same  sick  feeling  that  it  did  to  look  down  from 
a  height — he  wanted  to  draw  back  from  the  pain 
as  from  a  great  drop  beneath  him. 

Somebody  motored  him  to  the  railway-station — 
he  did  not  remember  who  it  was  when  he  got  back 
to  town.  He  had  won  a  lot  of  money — that  did  not 
touch  him  either,  though  it  would  have  been  an- 
other crash  if  he  had  had  to  go  to  his  father — for 
a  time.  He  did  not  doubt  that  finally  he  would  be 
rescued.  Eddie  never  doubted  his  finals.  In  that 
he  was  like  Mary  Trefusis.  And  he  knew  the  old 
man  had  it.  How  much  had  he  made?  He  tried 
to  add  it  up  in  the  taxi  driving  through  the  Lon- 
don streets,  but  it  always  came  out  wrongly.  He 
was  dining  out  to-night  with  some  men,  and  he 
must  dress;  but  when  he  entered  the  flat  he  had 
shared  with  Petrova  its  emptiness  struck  him 
anew  with  a  horror  as  of  great  darkness.  He  shiv- 
ered with  the  excitement  of  the  day,  and  the  wine 
he  had  drunk,  and  the  ever-present,  ever-defied 
wound  of  Petrova 's  flight.  Then  a  little  fond  yelp 
sounded  from  the  dark  dining-room,  and  his  dog 
thrust  a  quivering  nose  into  his  hand. 

"  Chit!  " 

The  terrier  was  wagging  his  whole  body  with  his 
eager  tail,  and  fawning  and  nuzzling  as  good  dogs 
do  with  those  they  love  best  of  all,  but  in  a  sub- 
dued fashion.  He  had  learned  that  endearments 


170  WANDERING  FIKES 

to  his  master  brought  vengeance  on  them  both 
from  the  horrible  strange  mistress  who  had  lived 
with  them  for  a  time  and  forbidden  him  to  dare  to 
crawl  to  Eddie's  feet.  Petrova's  jealousy  had 
made  even  Chit  a  bitter  contention  between  her 
and  her  husband,  and  because  he  loved  them  both 
Eddie  had  found  them  hard  to  reconcile.  In  his 
inmost  heart  he  had  dreaded  some  cruelty  vented 
on  his  dog  by  the  savage  blood  in  Petrova,  who 
belonged  to  a  nation  that  has  traditions  for  its 
animals — but  not  England's.  He  had  never  ad- 
mitted this,  even  to  himself,  but  he  had  rarely  left 
the  dog  at  home  when  his  wife  was  there,  and  he 
stooped  to  pull  the  cocked  ears  with  an  odd  little 
sense  of  relief.  One  love  saved  at  the  expense  of 
another ! 

When  he  went  into  his  dressing-room  to  change, 
the  dog  accompanied  him,  still  sniffing  and  yelping 
a  little — talking  to  him  irrepressibly  as  one  free 
at  last  to  tell  all  his  little  heart  out.  Thome  talked 
to  him  in  return  to  break  the  vicious  stillness,  silly 
words  in  a  feigned  voice  that  a  woman  might  have 
used,  or  a  child.  A  good  many  lovers  of  animals 
have  "  dog-voices  "  or  "  cat- voices."  I  have 
known  people — but  these  were  women — who  had 
"  horse-voices."  Thome  rattled  to  the  dog  while 
he  had  his  bath  and  changed  into  the  clothes  that 
his  man  had  laid  out  for  him.  Then  jerking  open 
a  draw  to  find  something  forgotten  he  came  on 
Mary  Trefusis '  photograph,  and  remembered  that 
he  had  flung  it  there  on  his  wife's  return  from 
the  nursing-home,  because  she  would  have  made 
a  scene  if  it  had  been  left  on  the  dining-room 
mantelpiece  where  Sinclair,  alas !  had  seen  it.  He 
caught  it  up  and  looked  at  the  exquisite,  inexpres- 
sible face  with  feverish  intent.  Dear  little  Molly ! 
he  wished  he  could  share  his  winnings  with  her. 


WANDERING  FIRES  171 

He  was  sure  she  must  be  hard  up.  Would  Molly 
have  treated  him  as  Petrova  had  done  if  she  had 
been  his  wife,  as  she  had  so  recklessly  told  Johnnie 
Sinclair?  .  .  .  But,  of  course,  Molly  of  the  fair 
face  was  like  all  other  women.  None  of  them  had 
ever  loved  him,  since  Pet  had  sworn  more  passion- 
ately than  any  .  .  .  once  on  her  knees  .  .  .  and 
Pet — Dubrowski  .  .  .  That  vision  of  them  in 
nameless  embraces  had  him  by  the  throat  again. 
.  .  .  He  flung  the  photo  back  into  the  drawer  and 
laughed.  A  bottle  of  fizz  and  two  liqueurs — that 
did  it.  All  his  "  girls  "  would  forget  mamma's 
advice  under  those  circumstances.  .  .  .  Cham- 
pagne love.  He  recognised  no  other. 

There  followed  other  days  and  nights,  wherein 
he  trod  the  same  round  of  poignant  pain,  carrying 
a  blatant  face  for  his  world  to  see  and  accept.  He 
dared  not  give  in  and  go  away.  He  would  face  it 
out,  live  it  down,  let  them  see  how  little  it  had 
affected  him — within  the  limits  of  good  taste.  For 
Eddie  did  not  take  his  seared  face  and  half- 
drugged  brain  into  the  private  houses  of  his 
friends  to  embarrass  them.  He  was  seen  at  race 
meetings  out  of  bravado,  and  in  the  company  of 
men  at  places  where  women  might  be  expected  not 
to  go.  The  expectations  of  such  men  as  Eddie 
Thorne  about  women  are  nicely  adjusted  and 
startlingly  fastidious.  Nevertheless  his  star  led 
him  suddenly  into  the  presence  of  the  very  woman 
who  had  provided  the  breaking-point  for  Petro- 
va 's  endurance  and  the  war-cry  of  her  final  defi- 
ance. Singularly  enough,  she  had  not  accused  him 
to  his  face — an  unusual  restraint,  since  she  had 
gloried  in  scenes — but  must  have  brooded  on  a  fan- 
cied wrong.  It  was  not  Mary  Trefusis  who  had 
figured  in  her  final  letter,  though  Mary  had  been 
an  instrument  in  Sinclair's  hands  to  start  the  dis- 


172  WANDERING  FIRES 

ruption,  and  she  had  not  failed  to  thrust  * '  the  girl 
who  poses  as  your  wife  "  into  Thome's  irritated 
ears.  After  her  return  to  the  flat  there  had  been 
an  armed  peace  for  a  week,  and  then  Petrova  had 
seen  something — a  bagatelle — merely  a  mannerism 
of  Eddie 's  and  an  exerting  of  his  personal  charm 
to  a  woman  who  certainly  might  have  attracted 
him  if  Petrova  had  not  been  so  vividly  in  his  life. 
Perhaps  Mrs.  Varney  did  attract  him — perhaps  he 
attracted  her,  since  in  his  wife 's  presence,  but  un- 
conscious of  it,  she  had  invited  him  to  her  house. 
It  was  a  perfectly  innocent  social  invitation,  with 
her  husband's  concurrence,  given  in  a  public  place. 
But  Petrova,  her  sense  forecasting  the  future, 
knew  that  developments  might  follow,  and  dis- 
counted the  strength  of  her  own  influence.  In  her 
farewell  letter  she  scornfully  flung  Mrs.  Varney 
as  a  victim  into  the  breach — "  Your  latest  flame, 
this  woman  Varney  " — and  took  a  certain  atro- 
cious credit  to  herself  for  her  own  action.  "  It 
will  give  us  both  another  chance,"  she  said,  and 
that  phrase  cut  Eddie  as  nothing  else  in  the  angry, 
senseless  scrawl.  It  was  as  if  he  acknowledged 
failure,  and  had  asked  for  release,  when  all  he 
wanted  was  Petrova — and  Petrova — and  again 
Petrova.  He  had  never  been  treated  by  women 
as  Petrova  had  treated  him,  and  for  the  time  be- 
ing at  least  it  had  made  him  her  slave.  He  had 
not  yet  grown  weary,  whatever  the  years  ahead 
might  bring.  Even  her  tantrums  were  a  stimu- 
lant; they  seemed  the  outcome  of  a  violence  of 
passion  that  made  other  women  look  tame.  He 
had  deceived  himself  in  thinking  that  they  were 
but  the  proof  of  a  fuller-blooded  love  for  him,  and 
had  clung  to  the  delusion  as  only  a  vain  man  can. 
For  Eddie  was  very  vain,  as  Mary  had  seen,  and 
it  was  his  vanity  as  well  as  his  love  that  his  wife 


WANDEEING  FIRES  173 

had  wounded.  He  had  been  too  successful  with 
women  whenever  he  really  set  himself  to  win  them, 
and  he  was  secretly  proud  of  it,  though,  curiously 
enough,  it  never  made  him  feel  secure.  There  is 
nothing  so  much  like  proof -armour  as  conceit,  and 
nothing  so  vulnerable  as  vanity.  Of  conceit  Thorne 
had  none;  he  had  an  amazingly  poor  opinion  of 
his  own  looks  and  attractions,  but  for  this  very 
reason  he  was  the  more  easily  flattered  by  a 
marked  preference  shown  for  him.  Flatter  Eddie, 
and  he  became  grateful  to  the  least  attractive  of 
the  opposite  sex.  But  despite  his  unexpected  diffi- 
dence— perhaps  because  of  it — it  must  be  owned 
that  he  did  not  always  make  the  first  advances. 

Mrs.  Varney  was  by  no  means  the  vaurienne 
that  Petrova  would  have  made  her  out.  She  was 
a  kindly  woman,  in  the  warmth  of  her  prime,  gra- 
cious in  manner  and  with  good  taste  in  dress. 
She  was  not  very  pretty,  but  she  had  a  certain 
charm  in  her  pale  face  and  heavy-lidded  eyes,  and 
she  parted  her  dark  hair  in  the  middle,  which 
suited  her  better  than  the  majority  of  her  sex. 
When  Thorne  was  first  introduced  to  her  he  won- 
dered where  he  had  seen  her  before,  and  the  remi- 
niscence teased  him  until  she  said:  "  Oh,  Mr. 
Thorne,  I  believe  you  are  a  member  of  the  Roe- 
hampton  Club.  My  husband  plays  golf  there,  and 
I  am  very  fond  of  the  gardens.  I  go  down  even 
out  of  the  season. '  *  Then  he  remembered  the  day 
that  he  had  tea  with  Mary  Trefusis,  and  a  woman 
at  another  table  who  had  looked  at  him.  .  .  .  The 
incident  in  the  shrubbery  afterwards  had  driven 
Mrs.  Varney  out  of  his  head,  since  a  kiss  on  warm 
lips  was  more  to  his  senses  than  a  glance  from 
table  to  table.  He  admitted  his  membership  of 
Roehampton  to  Mrs.  Varney,  talked  of  the  Club, 
and — did  not  mention  Mary  Trefusis.  It  was  after 


174  WANDERING  FIRES 

this  that,  following  up  the  acquaintance,  Petrova 
saw  him  speak  to  Mrs.  Varney  with  the  manner 
that  had  first  fascinated  herself. 

Some  weeks  after  his  wife's  flight  Thome  was 
coming  out  of  a  night  club  where  he  had  been  with 
a  party  of  men  friends,  and  encountered  the  Var- 
neys  in  the  vestibule.  They  had  not  been  to  dance, 
but  to  see  the  place,  a  little  out  of  a  curiosity  which 
he  deprecated  in  the  lady.  But  with  his  invariable 
impulse  he  paused  to  speak  to  her  because  she  had 
been  the  crux  of  Petrova 's  letter  ...  a  defiance 
flung  to  his  absent  wife  by  his  angry  conscience. 
Mrs.  Varney  did  not  know.  Had  she  done  so  it  is 
possible  that  she  would  have  bowed  and  passed  on, 
a  trifle  outraged.  Even  as  it  was,^she  wondered  a 
little  that  a  man  in  Thome 's  position  should  be  so 
in  evidence  in  London;  but  his  face  touched  her 
with  its  new,  wan  look,  and  some  of  the  youth  and 
devilry  gone  out  of  it.  No,  the  devilry  was  there, 
as  she  met  his  eyes,  but  not  the  youth.  She  was  a 
warm-hearted  woman.  "  You  have  never  been  to 
see  me  as  you  promised,"  she  said,  with  her  hand 
in  his,  and — perhaps — her  fingers  pressed  on  his  a 
little.  Sympathy,  of  course.  Eddie  almost  clung 
to  the  suggestion  of  solace  in  the  pretty  hand. 
"  When  shall  I  come?  Do  you  really  mean  it,  or 
shall  I  bore  you  T  "  *  *  I  really  mean  it.  Will  you 
come  to-morrow  1  "  .  .  . 

It  strikes  a  ludicrous  note  to  say  that  a  man  who 
has  lost  his  wife  as  Thorne  had  done  is  in  want  of 
his  mother.  But  in  truth  he  wanted  comfort  and 
feminine  patience.  He  had  thought  once  or  twice 
wistfully  of  going  down  to  Upcott.  They  had  been 
very  forbearing  on  the  whole  about  his  ill-consid- 
ered marriage.  But  there  was  no  woman  at  the 
head  of  that  house,  and  his  sisters — both  married 
— were  not  likely  to  act  as  the  buffer  state  between 


.WANDERING  FIRES  175 

himself  and  the  "  old  man  "  even  if  they  were 
there.  Mrs.  Varney  offered  an  alternative.  She 
liked  dogs  too,  and  Chit  was  welcome.  At  first  she 
accepted  Thorne  and  his  white  dog  with  her  hus- 
band's approval.  "  That  poor  devil — taking  it 
hard.  We  must  hold  out  the  hand  of  fellowship, 
Rose."  Then  there  came  a  day  when  Varney 
thought  his  wife  saw  too  much  of  Thorne,  and 
warned  her.  But  by  that  time  Mrs.  Varney  was 
pledged  too  far  in  her  own  feeling  and  would  not 
turn  back.  It  became  necessary  to  disguise  the 
situation,  that  was  all.  Eddie  had  dodged  a  jeal- 
ous husband  before.  He  had  never  been  in  the 
Divorce  Court  as  co-respondent,  but  he  had  seen 
it  materialise  before  him  ere  it  faded  out  in  a 
fortunate  mist.  He  was  a  little  indignant  with 
Varney,  because  he  meant  no  harm  this  time,  and 
had  done  none — as  yet. 

He  meant  no  harm  even  though  he  took  the 
occasion  of  having  tea  with  Mrs.  Varney  in  her 
own  sitting-room — the  feminine  equivalent  to  a 
man's  den — when  he  was  safely  assured  that  Var- 
ney was  at  a  board  meeting  of  the  great  railway 
company  of  which  he  was  conveniently  a  director. 
It  was  an  early  winter,  and  though  the  month  was 
only  November,  there  was  snow  already.  The 
room  was  firelit,  and  Mrs.  Varney  was  wearing  a 
fur-trimmed  gown.  The  unnecessary  lines  in 
Thome's  worn  face  seemed  to  relax  and  fade  out 
with  a  sense  of  physical  ease  and  the  comfort  of 
a  woman's  presence  and  sympathy.  He  looked 
round  the  room  a  little  hungrily,  wondering  why 
Varney  was  so  much  luckier  in  his  domestic  life 
than  himself,  and  feeling  very  lonely  despite  his 
hostess,  with  the  simple  emotion  of  a  child.  Most 
of  Eddie's  feelings  were  so  elementary  as  to  have 
the  pathos  of  the  animal  world. 


176  WANDERING  FIRES 

"  This  is  the  only  house  where  I  go  now!  "  he 
said  suddenly  in  a  low  voice.  It  was  as  near  as  he 
had  ever  gone  to  a  reference  to  his  disaster. 

"  Poor  dear!  "  said  Mrs.  Varney  under  her 
breath. 

Thome  looked  up  with  those  dangerous  eyes — 
the  more  dangerous  in  that  they  simply  asked  for 
kindness.  He  laid  his  hand  on  Mrs.  Varney 's  and 
played  with  her  fingers  half  absently,  running  the 
rings  up  and  down  them.  She  had  beautiful  rings. 
It  was  a  vanity  of  hers. 

"  You  are  very  good  to  me,  Rose!  "  he  said. 
If  they  had  not  been  so  close  to  each  other  he 
might  never  have  touched  her.  But  Eddie  always 
sat  beside  a  woman  as  if  her  very  atmosphere,  the 
subtle  fragrance  of  her  gown,  her  feminine  pres- 
ence, attracted  him. 

"  Perhaps  I  like  to  be!  "  she  answered,  and  the 
ringed  fingers  pressed  his  again  ever  so  gently. 
Sympathy,  of  course. 

1  i  Why  should  you  like  to  be  ?  '  *  He  took  his  cue 
almost  mechanically — he  had  taken  it  so  many 
times  before !  The  habit  of  flirtation  becomes  just 
as  much  second  nature  as  that  of  drink,  or  routine, 
or  self-restraint.  Thorne  hardly  knew  whether  he 
was  or  was  not  flirting  when  with  a  woman  who 
appealed  to  him  at  all,  it  was  so  much  part  of  his 
personality. 

"  I  suppose  I  like  you." 

"  Do  you  like  me?     I  wonder  why!     There 
doesn't  seem  much  in  me  to  like!  "    The  wounded 
vanity  betrayed  itself  in  the  tone. 
* l  There  is  a  great  deal  that  I  like !  '  ' 
"  I  wonder  you  are  not  bored  with  me.    I  am 

here  a  great  deal " 

"  I    should    miss    you    awfully    now    if    you 
weren't." 


WANDERING  FIRES  177 

"  "Would  you  miss  me?  ' 

Mrs.  Varney  was  looking  down,  those  full  lids 
of  hers  hiding  her  eyes.  She  -knew  perfectly  well 
that  Thome  was  looking  at  her,  could  feel  the  fire 
of  his  eyes  through  all  the  composure  of  her  man- 
ner. Her  hand  still  lay  in  his  with  a  dangerous 
contact.  She  leaned  a  little  forward  as  if  to  take 
a  cigarette  from  the  box  on  the  table  near  by,  and 
the  movement  brought  her  within  the  reach  of 
Thome's  arm.  He  sat  quite  still,  waiting;  his 
experience  of  women  told  him  that  in  this  case  he 
need  not  make  the  first  movement,  and  his  hurt 
pride  demanded  the  balm  of  being  wooed  rather 
than  wooing.  Rose  Varney  raised  her  heavy  lids 
at  last  and  looked  full  into  his  eyes. 

"  Yes,  you  may!  "  she  said. 

Eddie  put  his  arm  round  her  and  met  the  will- 
ing lips  with  his  own.  He  almost  waited,  indeed, 
for  their  pressure  on  his  to  tempt  him.  But  he 
prolonged  the  kiss  with  a  certain  luxury  of  solace, 
until  she  drew  back  at  last  with  a  long  soft  breath 
that  sounded  like  satisfaction. 

"  I  began  to  wonder  if  you  ever  would,"  she 
said. 

"  You  wouldn't  let  me,  before."  Thorne  never 
allowed  a  woman  to  feel  herself  the  guilty  one,  and 
at  the  same  time  he  never  failed  to  take  the  ad- 
vantage of  forcing  the  initiative  upon  her. 

"I'm  afraid  I  might  have  been  so  foolish, 
if " 

"  You  don't  think  this  wrong,  do  you?  "  said 
Eddie,  as  if  suddenly  troubled  by  conscience.  It 
was  a  phrase  he  had  used  often,  to  many  other 
women.  It  always  roused  them  to  defence,  of  him 
no  less  than  themselves. 

"  Of  course  not.  I  shouldn't  do  anything  wrong. 
No  more  would  you.  I  could  see  you  were  very 


178  WANDERING  FIRES 

unhappy,  and  I  wanted  to  comfort  you."  They 
were  still  close  together,  for  she  had  hardly  drawn 
back  from  him.  At  that  suggestion  of  "  comfort- 
ing," so  subtly  feminine,  he  felt  her  hand  draw 
his  head  down  gently  to  her  shoulder,  so  that  his 
face  rested  half  against  the  laces  of  her  gown,  half 
against  her  warm  neck.  He  knew  better  than  to 
move.  She  was  courting  her  own  undoing  with 
every  word  of  indistinguishable  tenderness 
breathed  above  him.  He  had  only  to  wait,  and 
they  would  most  certainly  have  drifted  to  within 
sight  at  least  of  something  "  wrong,"  but  for  an 
unguarded  sentence  of  hers  that  disentangled  it- 
self from  the  murmured  words,  prompted  by  late 
caution. 

"  Only,  if  Reggie  should  guess  ..."  she  said. 

If  Reggie  should  guess — if  the  husband  ever 
guessed — until  too  late !  His  own  case  pointed  at 
Reggie,  sitting  solemnly  on  his  board  in  the  city, 
by  which  tedious  duty  he  was  enabled  to  give  his 
wife  those  beautiful  rings  as  well  as  the  home 
which,  at  this  moment,  another  man  was  enjoying. 
When  you  came  to  think  of  it,  everyone  laughed 
at  the  situation  of  a  married  woman  with  a  lover ; 
but  the  poor  fool  of  a  husband  did  not  laugh.  And 
Eddie 's  creed  had  always  been  that  if  he  knew  the 
husband  he  would  not  tempt  the  wife.  He  knew 
and  liked  Reggie  Varney,  and  had  accepted  his 
hospitality.  .  .  . 

Somehow  or  other  Rose  Varney  found  that  the 
moment  had  come  to  an  end.  It  might  of  course 
be  repeated — she  looked  forward  to  such  a  risk 
with  intention,  even  if  "  Reggie  should  guess." 
But  now  they  were  standing  up,  Thome's  arms 
about  her  it  is  true,  and  his  lips  on  hers — linger- 
ingly,  almost  as  if  in  a  long  farewell. 


WANDERING  FIEES  179 

"  YouVe  been  very  good  to  me,  Rose,"  he  said 
again.  "  Bless  you!  May  I  write  to  you?  ' 

"  Yes,  do — but  not  here.  To  my  club.  I  play 
bridge  there  any  day. ' ' 

'  *  I  know. ' '  He  seemed  as  if  he  could  not  quite 
leave  her,  for  again  he  came  back  from  the  door- 
way to  tell  her  to  take  care  of  herself,  and  to  kiss 
her  again.  Mrs.  Varney  smiled  almost  indul- 
gently. She  was  very  well  satisfied  with  things  as 
they  were,  for  the  present,  and — they  had  done 
nothing  wrong. 

11  A  kiss  and  good-bye  " — there  was  Eddie's 
creed  intact.  He  decided  suddenly  to  go  to  Monte 
Carlo,  where  there  were  always  the  tables,  and 
pigeon-shooting  later  on — he  had  come  near  to  the 
cup  before  the  war.  And  he  need  not  shoot  under 
his  own  name.  .  .  . 

A  day  later  Rose  Varney  found  a  letter  at  the 
club  in  Thome's  familiar,  disjointed  style,  telling 
her  of  his  alteration  of  plans,  and  begging  her, 
very  sincerely,  to  write  him  a  line  sometimes.  It 
was  a  letter  that  anyone  might  have  read,  but  for 
a  certain  tender  gratitude  that  struck  a  truer  note. 
Rose  did  not  play  bridge  very  well  that  after- 
noon. .  .  . 

Chit  went  down  to  Upcott.  There  was  a  bevy 
of  dogs  there  already,  mostly  brought  by  Eddie 
and  his  brother.  It  was  harder  parting  with  Chit 
than  with  Rose  Varney  after  all.  The  flat  in  Lon- 
don was  let,  and  passed  out  of  Eddie's  hands.  He 
would  never  return  there.  It  was  haunted  by  evil 
memories,  and  the  ghost  of  a  passionate  woman 
who  left  nothing  behind  her  but  a  sense  of  shame 
and  tarnished  honour,  until  his  brief  married  life 
seemed  to  Thorne  but  one  long  bitterness,  and  he 
forgot  the  madness  of  love  fulfilled.  The  time 


180  WANDERING  FIEES 

was  even  to  come  when  he  would  wonder  at  himself 
with  unconscious  cynicism  and  a  kind  of  secret 
contempt,  remembering  Petrova  as  a  woman  with 
heavy  lines  of  face  and  figure  that  suggested  tem- 
per, and  losing  her  charm — losing  all  the  restless 
glamour  that  had  at  least  made  him  an  unselfish 
man  by  the  very  force  of  his  love,  however  un- 
worthy its  object.  He  did  not  know  this — he  saw 
himself  rather  as  a  blind  fool.  For  there  is  noth- 
ing that  looks  so  mean  as  a  discredited  idol. 


CHAPTEE  X 

MR,  CUNNINGHAM  was  holding  up  the  most 
important  picture  taken  on  the  Moor,  be- 
cause he  could  not  remember  what  gar- 
ments had  clothed  his  rather  scanty  legs  in  the 
follow-on  in  London.  He  ranged  through  the  com- 
pany with  distracted  questions,  and  implored  them 
to  remember  the  wardrobe  which  he  had  forgotten. 

"  My  dear  Thing,"  he  said  to  Bromley,  "  why 
should  I  have  worn  trousers  in  the  hall  scene  when 
I  was  just  going  out  for  the  fatal  walk  to  Prince- 
town  ?  It 's  not  in  reason — I  couldn  't  have  changed 
on  the  doorstep." 

"  Why  on  earth  don't  you  keep  your  clothes  put 
down  in  a  note-book?  "  said  Jeff  irritably  (he  had 
reasons  for  wishing  to  get  through  the  work  and 
to  be  free  to  go  for  a  walk).  "  I  have  every  one  of 
my  costumes  down,  even  to  the  ties." 

"  That's  just  it.  I  thought  I  couldn't  forget  a 
little  thing  like  my  trousers  when  I  didn't  wear 
any. ' ' 

11  "Well,  I  don't  remember  you  in  knickerbock- 
ers !  ' '  said  Bromley,  a  hint  unkindly,  with  his  blue 
eyes  on  Cunningham's  bony  knees.  "  And  I  am 
sure  I  should  have  noticed  it  if  you  had  been 
dressed  for  golf." 

'  *  I  had  just  had  the  suit  made — it  stands  to  rea- 
son that  I  should  have  worn  it!  "  Cunningham 
cast  a  flattering  eye  over  his  own  legs,  arrayed  in 
baggy  tweed  and  tartan  stockings  that  would  not 
have  disgraced  a  Scotch  piper.  "  Nell! — where 's 

181 


182  WANDERING  FIRES 

Nell  Grey?  She  has  the  memory  of  the  company. 
Did  I  wear  trousers  or  knickerbockers  in  the  hall 
scene  in  London?  " 

"  I  think  you  wore  the  trousers,"  said  Ellen 
Grey  soberly.  "  You  see,  you  had  just  come  in 
from  lunching  with  the  duchess,  and  you  said  that 
you  couldn't  have  motored  over  to  her  house  in 
golf  clothes.  And  you  had  a  soft  hat — not  a  cap." 

"  Then  I  must  go  and  change.  Bromley,  tell 
them  to  give  me  half  a  mo,  for  Godfrey's  Band's 
sake !  ' '  The  scenario  writer  made  a  rush  for  the 
stairs,  to  be  stopped  half-way  up  by  Bromley's 
warning  voice. 

I  *  The  light 's  going,  Cunningham !  ' ' 

"  Well,  I  can't  wear  trousers  in  the  hall  and 
walk  out  of  the  front  door  in  knickerbockers !    It *s 
absurd.    Where  did  I  change  ?    On  the  doorstep  ?  ' 
asked  Cunningham  sarcastically,  pausing  on  the 
stairs. 

Bromley  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  turned  to 
Mary  Trefusis,  who  was  listening  in  fits  of 
laughter. 

"  What  does  it  matter  what  he  wears'?  "  she 
asked  carelessly,  glancing  at  the  open  doorway, 
where  the  ominous  day  was  losing  the  flaccid  sun- 
light and  darkening  with  an  autumn  haze. 

II  Oh,  of  course  he  must  dress  the  same  in  the 
follow-on  as  he  did  in  London!  "  Bromley  ad- 
mitted, his  face  wrinkling  in  the  laughter  that  she 
liked  so  much.    "  That's  the  worst  of  taking  all 
the  interiors  together,  when  the  outdoor  scenes 
come  in  between.    I  once  saw  a  lady  coming  to  call, 
on  the  screen,  in  a  small  bonnet  thing — what  do 
you  call  it,  toque? — and  in  the  next  picture  the 
butler  was  announcing  her  into  the  room  in  a  wide- 
brimmed  hat !    It  looked  awfully  funny,  and  might 
have  spoiled  the  picture." 


WANDERING  FIRES  183 

Mary's  one  dimple  was  as  much  in  evidence  as 
his  wrinkles.  "I'm  thankful  I  always  wear  the 
same  '  sweet  simplicity  '  frock!  "  she  said.  "  I 
should  be  sure  to  forget  the  details.  Angelica  ap- 
pears to  have  only  one  gown  to  her  name.  Jeff,  if 
the  light  fails,  will  they  let  us  off !  ' 

"  They  will  have  to.  Will  you  come  for  a  truly 
exploring  after  lunch?  We  haven't  seen  much  of 
the  Moor." 

"I'd  love  it.    Do  you  know  the  way?  " 

"  Not  on  your  life!  We're  lost  before  we 
start.  " 

They  both  laughed,  and  sat  down  on  the  door- 
step of  the  farmhouse  to  wait  for  Cunningham  and 
the  light,  Mary  with  her  pretty  discontented  faci 
framed  in  her  hands,  her  elbows  on  her  knees.  She 
had  hardly  found  the  W7ork  irksome  in  London  be- 
cause there  had  been  no  inducement  to  leave  the 
studio  and  go  elsewhere,  and  everything  she 
wanted  to  do  could  well  be  managed  after  the  light 
failed.  Had  The  Grange  been  one  of  the  most 
modern  studios,  the  work  could  have  gone  on  up  to 
nine  o'clock,  since  it  would  have  depended  on 
AVestminster  arcs,  Kleigel  spots,  and  Wohl  broad- 
sides, rather  than  the  fickle  English  sun;  being 
one  of  the  old  daylight  studios,  the  company  were 
released  as  soon  as  the  sun  lost  his  power,  and  on 
wet  days  even  earlier.  It  had  given  them  an 
uncertain  leisure,  but  up  on  Dartmoor  the  hoard- 
ing of  daylight  wras  a  tie  and  a  nuisance.  The 
company  might  not  go  beyond  recall  as  long  as  it 
was  possible  to  use  the  camera,  and  in  a  new  place, 
with  the  temptation  to  explore  the  neighbour- 
hood, Mary  felt  the  restiveness  of  her  old 
habits  and  independence.  Had  it  not  been  for 
Bromley's  guidance,  of  which  she  wras  half  uncon- 
scious, she  would  have  broken  bounds  before  and 


184  WANDERING  FIRES 

earned  a  serious  reprimand  from  Philip  Block. 

The  light,  however,  did  not  improve  as  the  day 
went  on,  and  after  lunch  had  been  retarded  to  get 
the  very  best  of  the  midday  hours,  it  was  decided 
that  it  was  a  "  wash-out,"  and  to  abandon  work  at 
three  o'clock,  and  the  cinema  cast  were  free  to  go 
their  own  way. 

"  Run  up  and  put  on  your  hat,  Mary,"  Bromley 
said  hurriedly,  as  soon  as  the  verdict  was  certain. 
*  *  We  '11  go  for  a  long  tramp.  It 's  a  bit  thick,  but 
that  doesn't  matter,  does  it?  ' 

"  Why  should  it?  "  said  Mary  in  happy  igno- 
rance. "  Wait  for  me  in  Mrs.  Thirlston's  room, 
Jeffy — then  we  shall  get  off  by  our  lonesomes.  She 
won't  mind." 

She  passed  him  with  a  headlong  rush  for  the 
stairs,  and  burst  into  her  own  room,  banging  the 
door  behind  her.  It  did  not  take  her  long  to  cram 
a  woolly  cap  down  over  her  hair  and  slip  into  a 
warm  jumper,  after  ripping  off '  *  Angelica 's  ' '  in- 
nocent blue  gown  that  was  chilly  for  the  autumn 
day,  and  flinging  it  broadcast  on  the  bed.  The  out- 
side world  was  not  encouraging.  A  damp  mist 
was  lying  like  a  thin  veil  over  the  nearer  tors,  and 
thickening  to  a  blanket  that  wiped  out  the  horizon 
in  the  distance.  But  Mary's  blood  was  young,  and 
the  prospect  of  action  after  the  tiresome  waiting 
about  was  welcome.  Anything  to  stretch  her  legs 
and  feel  the  joy  of  exercise.  She  decided,  how- 
ever, that  a  wool  scarf  as  well  as  the  jumper  would 
be  comforting,  and  flung  over  the  contents  of  her 
box  to  find  one,  only  to  discover  that  she  had  either 
left  it  in  London  or  that  some  other  girl  in  the 
company  had  borrowed  it  after  a  fashion  peculiar 
to  them,  for  the  cast,  like  the  early  Christians, 
had  a  habit  of  sharing  their  goods  in  common. 


WANDERING  FIRES  185 

"  Blast!  "  said  Mary  impatiently,  mindful  that 
Bromley  was  waiting  and  the  day  going.  "  I  must 
borrow  of  Nell  Gray." 

It  did  not  strike  her  as  a  salient  characteristic 
of  the  company  that  everybody  borrowed  of  Nell 
Grey,  be  it  wool  scarves  or  sympathy,  needles  or 
the  good  office  of  listening.  Nell  was  one  of  those 
people  who  bore  other's  burdens  and  never 
shifted  her  own.  Mary  rushed  along  the  echoing 
passage  and  knocked  at  her  door,  hardly  waiting 
for  permission  to  enter  before  she  was  in  the  room 
with  a  breathless  request. 

"  Lend  me  a  scarf,  Nell!  I  think  Wardy  has 
mine.  White  if  you  have  it,  but  anything  must 
do." 

Nell  turned  round  from  the  window  where  she 
was  standing  looking  out,  with  a  face  that  seemed 
to  be  startled,  not  at  the  intrusion  into  her  room 
so  much  as  the  intrusion  into  her  thoughts.  She 
appeared  to  be  doing  nothing,  and  to  have  no  plans 
for  the  precious  afternoon,  though  everybody  else 
was  in  a  hurry  after  liberty. 

1 1  There 's  one  in  the  cupboard — it 's  white.  Are 
you  going  out,  Mary?  It's  very  thick." 

"  Jeff  and  I  are  going  for  a  tramp.  Don't  tell 
any  of  the  boys,  or  we  shan't  get  off  alone." 
Mary  had  dived  into  the  cupboard  in  search  of  the 
scarf  and  did  not  see  Nell's  face  as  she  spoke. 
When  she  reappeared  with  the  scarf  Nell  was  look- 
ing out  at  the  Moor  again. 

* '  You  had  better  be  careful  of  fog, ' '  was  all  she 
said.  "  Wrap  that  well  over  your  chest,  it's  a 
raw  day." 

"  It's  a  jolly  thick  scarf,"  said  Mary  appreci- 
atively, folding  it  scientifically  before  Nell's  strip 
of  glass.  The  soft  white  folds  suited  her  vivid 


186  WANDERING  FIKES 

face  as  a  frame  and  went  well  with  the  white 
jumper.  She  was  vaguely  glad  that  her  own  scarf 
was  lost,  and  that  she  had  borrowed  Nell's. 

"  It  belonged  to  May  Moon — she  gave  it  to  me 
when  she  left,"  said  Nell  almost  curtly,  her  face 
still  turned  to  the  Moor. 

"  Oh,  May  Moon!  '  Mary  was  still  looking  at 
herself  in  the  glass,  and  was  more  concerned  with 
what  she  saw  there  than  the  former  star.  '  *  What 
did  become  of  her?  What  made  her  leave  the 
company?  " 

There  was  an  uncomfortable  silence  that  sud- 
denly claimed  her  attention.  "  Well?  "  she  said 
almost  sharply. 

1 '  She  got  into — trouble. ' ' 

"  What  sort  of  trouble — drink?  " 

"  No.  She  was  going  to  have  a  child."  Nell's 
low  voice  hesitated  from  charity  rather  than 
shame.  And  yet  Mary  knew  that  she  was  ashamed 
for  the  woman  who  had  "got  into  trouble,"  and 
was  vaguely  amazed.  In  Mary  Trefusis'  world 
such  a  disaster  was  far  less  serious  than  drink  or 
drugs  or  debt. 

"  Well,  really,  nowadays  ..."  Mary  turned 
from  the  glass  and  the  subject  together,  conscious 
of  the  other  girl 's  disapproval.  She  hated  anyone 
to  disapprove  of  her,  and  designated  Nell's  at- 
titude as  that  of  a  world  to  which  she  did  not 
belong.  For  boast  as  she  might  of  being  a 
working  girl,  and  oT  her  independence,  Mary  Tre- 
fusis was  conscious  in  her  inmost  heart  that  she 
was  not  absorbed  into  her  new  life,  and  could  not 
be  entirely  of  it.  She  treated  everybody  round  her 
as  her  equals,  and  never  thought  of  them  as  such. 
In  the  present  instance  she  found  herself  surpris- 
ingly held  up  by  an  attitude  of  respectability  that 
dumbfounded  her.  She  had  expected  a  looseness 


WANDERING  FIRES  187 

of  morals  and  conversation  on  the  cinema  stage 
that  she  never  found  in  Ellen  Grey  or  even  Robin 
Ward.  They  seemed  to  her  amazingly  prudish, 
and  they  flinched  at  speeches  which  would  have 
caused  nothing  but  amusement  at  her  aunt's  din- 
ner-table. Had  she  drifted  into  the  dressing- 
rooms  of  a  musical  comedy,  amongst  the  chorus,  it 
is  just  possible  that  she  would  have  met  with 
speech  coarser  than  her  own  and  phrases  that 
might  have  disgusted  her;  but  she  had  not  calcu- 
lated for  finding  herself  amongst  middle-class 
women  whose  traditions  had  not  been  rubbed  off 
them  by  license. 

When  she  entered  Mrs.  Thirlston's  room  Brom- 
ley was  there  alone,  a  tall  figure  in  tweeds  with  a 
cap  over  his  crisp  hair  and  alert  blue  eyes.  He 
looked  well  in  his  knickerbockers  and  short  jacket, 
and  Mary  found  no  fault  with  her  escort.  If  the 
rest  of  the  ' '  crowd  '  were  middle-class,  Jeff 
Bromley  at  least  was  never  in  the  category  to  her 
mind.  He  glanced  at  her  with  the  same  covert 
approval  that  she  had  given  him,  but  frank  though 
their  intercourse  was,  they  had  not  reached  the 
stage  of  comment  or  compliment. 

"  Can  you  walk  many  miles,  Mary?  "  he  said, 
as  they  set  off.  They  had  slipped  out  by  the  back 
entrance  of  the  farmhouse,  through  the  little 
creamery  and  past  the  shippen,  and  over  the  low 
stone  wall  bounding  everything,  to  avoid  falling 
in  with  the  rest  of  the  company. 

"  I'll  beat  you !  "  said  Mary  gaily,  with  a  glance 
under  the  long  lashes,  half  challenging,  half  wild, 
as  of  some  free  animal  that  may  make  a  bound  for 
liberty  at  any  moment.  "  I've  tramped  it  up  in 
Scotland  with  the  guns. ' ' 

"  How  many  miles!    Two?  " 

'  *  Fifteen — twenty !  ' '  she  boasted,  so  like  a  child 


188  WANDERING  FIRES 

who  swells  its  achievement  that  he  laughed  at  her. 

'  *  My  shoes  will  be  worn  out !  ' ' 

"  Go  barefoot,  then." 

"  Then  my  feet  might  be  worn  out,  and  what 
becomes  of  to-morrow's  pictures?  Shall  I  totter 
on  two  sticks  as  John  Derriford?  ' 

1 1  He  was  such  a  mug  in  the  book  that  he  would 
be  sure  to  have  corns !  ' ' 

"  You  don't  admire  him?  ' 

"  I  thought  he  was  a  beast.  Angelica  was  bad 
enough,  but  the  man  turned  me  sick." 

' '  What  sort  of  man  do  you  admire  ?  ' ' 

"  A  good  sort — a  man  who  can  race,  and  play 
games,  and  go  on  when  he 's  beaten,  and  who  loves 
the  open  air,  and  has  a  clean  mind  and  body.  ..." 

Bromley  glanced  at  her  keenly,  striding  along 
beside  him  over  rough  grass  and  heather,  the  sling 
and  swing  of  her  young  body  in  perfect  accord 
with  her  active  mind.  There  was  no  consciousness 
of  any  real  hero  in  her  face. 

1  *  What  is  he  like  physically  ?  ' ' 

"Don't  know.  Haven't  thought  about  it.  Any- 
thing will  do,  so  long  as  he  is  all  right.  Oh,  he 
must  look  decent,  I  suppose. ' ' 

"  I  will  tell  you  what  he  is  like,"  said  Brom- 
ley suddenly.  '  *  He  is  about  middle  height,  and  so 
built  that  he  looks  as  if  he  were  made  of  pliant 
steel.  He  is  a  fair  man,  and  his  hair  has  a  little 
wave  in  it.  He  is  so  much  sunburnt  that  he  has  a 
colour — those  fair  skins  burn  easily — but  his  eyes 
are  unusually  dark.  His  face  is  rather  irregular — 
a  charming  face,  I  think,  and  so  do  you." 

The  stare  of  Mary's  great  eyes  showed  him  that 
she  was  entirely  in  the  dark  as  to  his  meaning,  and 
he  laughed  again,  perhaps  with  relief  for  her,  or 
for  himself.  "  I  don't  know  anybody  like  that!  " 
she  said.  "  Did  you  mean  yourself?  " 


WANDERING  FIEES  189 

Bromley's  face  flushed  up  to  the  crisp  hair,  and 
then  wrinkled  into  a  shout  of  laughter.  He  looked 
so  thoroughly  appreciative  of  his  own  discomfiture 
that  Mary  laughed  too. 

"  What  did  you  mean?  "  she  said. 

"  I  was  trying  to  describe  Mr.  Thorne!  "  he 
admitted  meekly. 

11  Eddie  Thorne!  '  The  bright  face  suddenly 
clouded,  so  that  he  wondered  why.  ' '  I  wish  every- 
body would  not  force  me  to  think  of  Eddie,"  she 
said.  "  It  makes  me  so  unhappy.  And  it  wasn't 
a  bit  like  him,  Jeff. ' ' 

1 1  Thank  you !    I  am  no  artist. ' ' 

"  You  sketch  people  better  than  you  talk  them. 
The  only  part  of  Eddie  that  I  could  recognise  was 
the  dark  eyes,  and  everybody  notices  those,  they 
are  so  peculiar." 

"  He  is  not  your  hero,  then?  ' 

"  Eddie  isn't  anybody's  hero — but  he  is  every- 
body's darling,"  said  Mary,  with  one  of  her 
shrewd  summings-up  of  an  intricate  subject.  "  I 
don't  w^ant  to  talk  of  him  because  he's  in  trouble, 
and  I  can't  help  him.  It's  as  dreadful  as  seeing  a 
child  hurt."  Her  lips  set,  and  she  began  to  walk 
faster  over  the  rough  ground.  Bromley  main- 
tained a  respectful  silence. 

They  were  already  a  mile  or  more  from  the 
farmhouse,  amongst  the  rough  grass  and  granite 
boulders  which  made  walking  somewhat  of  a  la- 
bour. The  wind  was  in  their  faces,  and  Bromley 
steered  by  it,  for  the  road  had  disappeared  behind 
the  first  tor  they  had  climbed,  and  the  increasing 
mist  made  the  distance  a  white  wall.  It  crept  up 
and  over  the  Moor  like  a  shroud,  sometimes  so 
thick  that  Bromley  looked  a  little  anxious,  some- 
times lifting  so  that  they  could  see  the  curious 
mellow  colours  of  the  landscape — yellow-green  and 


190  WANDERING  FIRES 

yellow-brown,  blackened  claret,  brown-purple, 
green-grey,  hardly  a  pure  colour,  but  all  inter- 
mingled. Both  Mary  and  Jeff  were  rather  quiet, 
as  if  their  whole  enjoyment  were  in  the  exercise, 
but  after  they  had  been  tramping  for  the  best  part 
of  an  hour  he  stood  still  and  looked  round  him. 

"  Mary,  I  don't  wish  to  say  that  I  have  lost  you 
as  I  promised,  but  I  should  be  happier  if  I  could 
see  a  road." 

"  Why,  there  it  is — over  there,"  said  the  girl, 
as  the  fog-wreaths  lifted  and  parted  a  little  and 
showed  the  quiescent  face  of  the  Moor  in  the 
autumn  afternoon.  It  was  so  quiet  that  it  seemed 
to  have  never  been  inhabited. 

"  So  it  is.  Good  girl!  What  a  splendid  thing 
it  is  to  have  young  eyes.  We  had  better  get  down 
to  it  and  turn  our  faces  homewards.  I  don't  like 
this  fog." 

"  I  want  to  sit  on  the  top  of  that  tor  for  a 
minute,"  said  Mary  wilfully.  "  We  can  get  down 
to  the  road  any  time. ' ' 

They  had  been  slowly  ascending  a  slope  strewn 
with  the  granite  outcrop,  while  below  them  lay  the 
bed  of  a  little  river,  one  of  those  desolate  moor- 
land streams  that  do  not  seem  to  have  any  source 
or  destiny.  It  had  come  out  of  the  mist,  and  was 
going  with  the  mist,  nameless  and  mysterious. 
Over  the  heads  of  the  pedestrians  the  hillside 
ended  in  more  blocks  of  granite,  crowning  the  tor ; 
and  still  the  fog  wreathed  and  folded  itself  like  a 
shroud  in  the  distance. 

Mary  had  already  sprung  from  one  rough  place 
to  another  until  she  reached  the  summit,  and 
perched  herself  upon  a  rock,  her  back  to  the  road 
and  her  face  to  the  open  moorland.  Bromley  per- 
force followed  her,  more  slowly,  looking  up  at  her 


WANDERING  FIRES  191 

above  him  as  if  lie  saw  some  significance  in  this 
climb  to  reach  her.  In  her  short  grey  skirt  and 
white  jumper  and  cap,  she  looked  like  some  pixie 
balanced  on  the  uncouth  seat  of  granite,  her  hands 
resting  behind  her  on  the  stone  to  avoid  slipping 
off. 

"  What's  that  tor  over  to  the  north,  Jeff?  "  she 
said. 

"  Heaven's  Tor,  I  should  think,"  said  Bromley, 
with  a  meaning  that  she  did  not  catch.  "  But  I 
am  not  even  sure  that  it  is  the  north." 

' '  It  must  be,  if  the  wind  is  still  in  the  west.  Do 
let's  go  there  some  day.  I  suppose  it's  too  far 
now?  " 

"  Too  far  to  Heaven's  Tor?  Yes,  a  great  deal. 
I  can't  let  you  stay  here  even  much  longer.  And 
it  will  be  a  stiff  tramp  going  home." 

"  I  like  it.  This  air  is  like  champagne — better 
than  Scotland.  Jeff,  I  should  like  to  build  a  house 
on  the  Moor,  and  live  here." 

"  All  alone?  " 

"  There  would  be  a  guest-room — sometimes — 
if  you  were  good!  " 

"  Should  I  be  good?  "  said  Bromley  lightly. 
"  It  is  too  far  off  the  police.  I  should  steal  the 
spoons." 

"  And  we  would  have  all  our  own  food  on  the 
premises,"  said  Mary,  with  the  delight  of  a  child. 
'  *  And  bake  our  own  bread ' ' 

"  Mary,  you  must  come  now,  the  time  is  going. 
We  have  to  get  back." 

*  *  In  a  minute.  It  is  only  tramping  over  the  road 
now.  Jeff,  did  you  ever  hear  such  a  funny  mur- 
mur as  that  stream!  It  seems  to  be  gabbling  all 
sorts  of  things " 

Bromley  stood  up  and  held  his  hands  to  her  to 


192  WANDERING  FIEES 

help  her  off  her  seat.  She  jumped  down  lightly, 
looking  up  at  him  with  a  mutinous  face.  "  You 
don't  like  taking  me  for  a  walk !  "  she  said.  "  All 
you  think  about  is  getting  home  to  tea. '  ' 

* '  All  I  think  about  is  this  fog, ' '  he  answered,  as 
he  hurried  her  round  the  great  rocks  to  the  further 
slope;  but  as  he  faced  the  prospect  he  uttered  an 
exclamation  of  dismay. 

The  road  was  gone.  The  Moor  itself  was  gone, 
save  for  a  few  yards  of  granite  outcrop  and  rough 
grass  and  heather.  Creeping  over  the  whole  world 
was  that  white  shroud  which  had  wiped  out  the 
homeward  way  and  the  whole  prospect,  leaving 
them  looking  into  a  nothingness  that  was  all  white 
and  seemed  to  stifle  them  with  its  silence.  It  had 
come  so  suddenly  that  even  now  the  view  behind 
them  was  partially  clear  compared  to  the  advanc- 
ing shroud  in  front,  but  the  fog  would  soon  be 
over  the  whole  of  this  part  of  the  Moor. 

"  We  shall  have  to  go  on,  in  front  of  it,  if  we 
can't  find  the  road,"  said  Bromley.  He  took 
Mary's  hand  and  almost  dragged  her  downhill, 
making  for  the  direction  in  which  they  had  seen 
the  road  as  far  as  he  could  judge ;  but  the  broken 
ground  made  it  more  confusing  than  plain  turf 
would  have  been,  and  after  stumbling  on  together 
for  some  time  they  stopped  in  bewilderment, 
afraid  to  move  even  a  few  feet  apart  lest  they 
should  lose  sight  of  each  other.  And  still  the 
wreathing  shroud  wrapped  everything  with  its 
cold,  clinging  whiteness. 

"  Mary,  I  can't  tell  you  how  sorry  I  am  that  I 
let  you  in  for  this!  "  he  said  penitently,  pressing 
the  girl's  hand  to  his  side  as  if  to  give  her  a  sense 
of  protection. 

"  I  don't  mind  a  bit.    It's  an  adventure." 

"  You  are  very  plucky.    But  I'm  to  blame,  all 


WANDERING  FIRES  193 

the  same.  I've  never  seen  a  real  Dartmoor  fog 
before,  and  I  had  no  idea  they  came  on  so  sud- 
denly. ' ' 

They  went  on  again  for  a  few  yards,  bearing 
more  to  their  right,  but  the  bewildering  white 
sameness  made  it  impossible  even  to  guess  their 
way.  Jeff  had  been  walking  with  the  wind  behind 
him,  as  they  had  faced  it  coming  out.  It  now  oc- 
curred to  him  that  it  might  have  changed,  which 
would  account  for  the-  fog  coming  on  so  suddenly. 
He  tried  walking  against  it  again,  the  girl's  hand 
on  his  arm,  and  the  white  shroud  making  each  step 
something  of  a  hazard  in  that  rough  country. 

They  had  been  going  on  in  this  manner  for  some 
time  when  they  became  aware  that  they  were  close 
to  a  stone  wall.  It  seemed  to  be  nothing  but  an 
enclosure  for  sheep,  and  nowhere  near  a  habita- 
tion, though  they  followed  it  slowly  along  the  hill- 
side for  some  way.  Even  this,  however,  was  a 
break  in  the  world  of  white  blanket  above  and 
broken  ground  underfoot,  and  suggested  human- 
ity, so  that  Bromley  instinctively  tried  to  quicken 
his  pace.  But  Mary  was  for  the  moment  fagged 
out.  She  had  been  at  work  most  of  the  morning, 
had  walked  more  miles  than  they  could  calculate 
over  the  Moor,  and  it  was  long  past  tea-time.  She 
sat  down  at  the  foot  of  the  untidy  wall  in  a  dry- 
spot,  and  looked  up  laughingly  at  Bromley,  though 
her  face  was  even  more  colourless  than  usual. 

"  I  can't  go  another  yard!  "  she  said.  "  Wait 
until  I've  had  a  rest.  Then  I  will." 

"  Poor  little  girl!  "  said  Bromley  involuntar- 
ily. "  I  could  curse  myself  for  being  the  cause." 

"  Oh,  rats !  I'm  enjoying  it.  I  shall  be  all  right 
in  a  minute. '  * 

"  You're  a  sportswoman,  Mary,  but  I  wish  I 
could  get  you  out  of  it."  He  stood  up,  tall  and 


194  WANDERING  FIRES 

anxious,  his  clean  six  feet  of  manhoocl  rising  over 
the  girl  at  his  feet  like  a  sentinel,  and  peered 
through  the  white  shroud  that  imprisoned  them  as 

safely  as  iron  walls.    *  *  This  d d  fog  must  lift 

some  time !  "he  muttered. 

"  For  goodness'  sake  don't  go  away  and  leave 
me !  You  'd  be  lost  in  a  few  yards,  and  Ave  should 
never  find  each  other  again."  She  caught  at  his 
hand,  and  held  it  like  a  frightened  child.  "  Sit 
down  and  wait  a  bit  till  I  can  go  on, ' '  she  said. 

He  found  a  seat  beside  her,  and  his  bigger  frame 
afforded  her  some  shelter  from  the  cold  air — it 
was  hardly  a  wind — that  lifted  the  wreathen  mist 
a  little  at  times.  The  atmosphere  was  chilly  with 
moisture,  and  Mary's  woollen  jumper  and  the 
white  scarf  were  damp  with  it.  They  sat  there  in 
silence  for  a  time,  Mary  too  glad  to  rest  to  trou- 
ble much  over  their  predicament,  Jeff  staring  into 
the  fog  with  strained  blue  eyes.  Suddenly  he 
turned  to  the  girl,  and  looked  at  her  for  a  long 
minute. 

"  It's  a  curious  world,  isn't  it?  "he  said  at  last, 
deliberately.  "  The  way  that  human  beings  are 
flung  into  each  other's  lives,  without  apparent 
purpose.  Who  would  have  thought  that  we  should 
be  fog-bound  on  Dartmoor  together,  that  day  I 
landed  on  your  lawn  and  had  the  effrontery  to 
ask  if  we  might  take  pictures?  We  might  never 
have  met,  but  for  that." 

''I'm  jolly  glad  we  did  meet.  You've  been  a 
good  friend  to  me,  Jeff." 

''I'm  not  showing  it  very  well  just  now! 
I've  only  tired  you  out,  and  run  the  risk  of  your 
catching  a  chill,  through  my  carelessness.  I  won- 
der if  a  man  ever  is  a  good  friend  to  a  woman, 
even  with  the  best  intentions?  " 


WANDERING  FIRES  195 

"  I  should  be  sorry  to  lose  mine.  I've  more 
men  friends  than  women  friends. ' ' 

"  I  tried  to  be  a  good  friend  to  a  woman  once, 
and  I  did  her  a  bad  turn. ' ' 

"  How?  " 

"  I  married  her." 

Mary  looked  at  him  with  interest.  The  fact  that 
a  man  was  married  had  never  interfered  with  her 
intimacy  with  him,  and  in  consequence  it  affected 
her  little.  Men  were  not  possible  husbands  to  her 
as  yet,  though  they  might  be  possible  lovers.  She 
was  a  little  excited  and  flattered  by  this  confi- 
dence from  Bromley,  and  it  took  her  thoughts  off 
the  cold  and  the  discomfort  of  her  present  sur- 
roundings. 

"  I  didn't  know  you  were  married,  Jeffy,"  she 
said  kindly,  her  big  child's  eyes  fixed  on  his  face 
with  a  kind  of  curiosity  that  it  should  look  so 
drawn  and  strange  in  the  mist.  "  Tell  me  about 
it.  Was  she  on  the  stage  ?  ' ' 

"  No — she  was  a  girl  I  knew  when  I  was  living 
at  home,  with  my  people.  We  had  known  each 
other  all  our  lives.  Oh,  it's  the  usual  story — she 
was  unhappy  at  home,  and  I  thought  she  would 
be  better  off  with  me. ' ' 

"  What  happened?  ' 

"  She  left  me  after  four  years — she  couldn't 
stand  the  theatrical  life,  and  wanted  a  fixed  home. 
I  haven't  seen  her  for  nearly  ten  years." 

"  Don't  you  know  what  became  of  her?  " 

"  I  used  to  make  her  an  allowance,  until  she 
wrote  and  told  me  that  she  didn't  want  it.  I 
concluded  that  she  had  found  someone  else  to  look 
after  her,  and  let  it  go  at  that. ' ' 

11  You  didn't  try  to  free  yourself?  " 

Bromley's  face  twisted  oddly.    "  No,"  he  said. 


196  WANDERING  FIRES 

"  It  didn't  seem  worth  while — at  the  time.  I  had 
had  one  venture  at  matrimony,  and  it  had  not 
encouraged  me  to  try  it  again.  And  divorce  is 
not  a  poor  man's  job." 

"  Perhaps  she  would  have  fought  it,  too,"  said 
Mary  with  perfect  frankness.  "  I  don't  suppose 
you  had  been  straight,  on  the  stage,  with  a  lot  of 
temptation." 

*  *  Mary,  I  don 't  like  to  hear  a  child  like  you  talk- 
ing about  a  man's  temptations." 

"  Why  not?  I  needn't  be  a  fool  because  I'm 
young,  need  I?  " 

"  No,  only  it  doesn't  seem — it  doesn't  come 
well  from  your  mouth. ' ' 

She  looked  at  him  totally  unembarrassed,  but  a 
little  puzzled  by  his  mood.  ' '  All  right,  Jeffy, ' '  she 
said  good-humouredly.  "  I'll  talk  like  an  early 
Victorian  grandmother  if  you  like.  But  go  on 
telling  me  about  yourself.  You  just  let  it  drop,  and 
you've  never  seen  her  since?  " 

"  We  ran  across  each  other  once,  about  four 
years  ago.  We  didn't  speak.  I  don't  even  know 
if  she  saw  me — I  suppose  she  did. ' ' 

"  Were  you  alone?  ' 

"  No,  I  had  a  girl  with  me,  as  it  chanced — Nell 
Grey.  We  were  at  Ullswater,  taking  pictures  of 
the  lakes." 

"  Ah,  yes,  you  used  to  go  for  excursions!  " 

Mary  dropped  her  chin  in  her  hands  and  looked 
out  into  the  wreathing  fog  that  still  wrapped  the 
world  in  a  shroud.  In  her  mind  she  did  not  see  the 
white  blanket — she  saw  the  bare  room  in  the  farm- 
house, with  Nell's  impassive  figure  in  the  window, 
and  the  little  still,  dark  face.  Something  of  the 
patience  and  endurance  demanded  of  other  women 
struck  her  suddenly.  "  She  took  it  lying  down," 
she  thought.  "  No,  she  didn't — she  just  set  her 


WANDERING  FIRES  197 

teet1  -and  bore  it.    /  should  have  banged  about !  ' ' 

There  were  no  mental  pictures  in  Bromley's 
mind,  nor  did  any  significance  attach  to  the  fact 
that  he  had  gone  about  with  Nell  Grey  during 
the  picture  work  at  the  Lakes.  Had  he  seen  it  in 
such  a  light  he  would  not  have  spoken  of  it  to  Mary 
Trefusis.  She  was  looking  at  him  rather  keenly, 
but  his  thoughts  were  abstractedly  in  the  past,  and 
he  failed  to  notice  her  expression. 

* '  How  was  it  you  were  doing  picture  work  dur- 
ing the  war?  "  she  said.  "  I  thought  you  joined 
up." 

"  Yes,  I  was  in  the  A.S.C.  The  crowd  I  was  in 
was  at  Alexandria  when  the  war  broke  out,  and  I 
was  mad  to  do  something.  I  knew  one  of  the  big 
merchants  of  the  town  who  had  a  car  and  had 
placed  it  at  the  service  of  the  Government;  but 
he  had  a  native  driver  who  was  debarred  from 
driving  a  British  general,  so  he  took  me  on  instead, 
and  I  drove  an  old  brigadier  who  was  awfully  good 
to  me  and  brought  me  home  with  him  after  three 
months  of  it  so  that  I  could  enlist.  I  went  into  the 
Isle  of  Wight  Rifles,  and  they  made  me  a  sergeant 
within  a  month;  but  the  A.S.C.  had  thrown  open 
their  commissioned  ranks  to  all  branches  of  the 
army,  so  I  applied  in  1915  and  was  sent  to  the 
training  establishment  at  Aldershot.  From  there 
I  went  back  to  Alexandria  and  the  Canal ;  but  my 
ill-luck  decreed  that  I  should  get  dysentery,  and 
I  was  invalided  home.  I  went  out  again  in  191G, 
and  finished  my  career  with  a  strained  heart.  It's 
not  a  great  record,  but  it  has  left  its  mark." 

He  spoke  lightly,  but  she  caught  a  note  of  bitter- 
ness in  his  voice,  with  unusual  intuition. 

*  *  What  infernal  luck !  You'd  have  liked  to  have 
stayed!  " 

' '  I  always  wanted  to  be  a  soldier.    And  I  liked 


198  WANDERING  FIEES 

the  work  even  though  I  never  got  to  France." 

Mary  was  silent  again,  thinking.  For  the  first 
time  it  came  home  to  her  with  a  biassed  resentment 
that  men  should  be  baulked  of  a  career  for  lack  of 
means,  though  she  could  talk  glibly  in  general 
phrases  of  socialistic  remedies  for  the  handicap 
of  circumstances,  like  all  the  younger  generation. 
Such  men  as  Eddie  Thorne  had  the  world  open  to 
them,  while  Jefferson  Bromley  had  been  driven 
to  the  alternative  of  a  Bohemian  life  from  an  of- 
fice stool,  as  she  was  quick  enough  to  guess.  It 
seemed  to  her  intolerable,  just  because  she  liked 
the  man ;  and  she  turned  to  him  with  a  new  sym- 
pathy that  it  was  perhaps  just  as  well  he  did  not 
see.  His  eyes  were  not  on  her  face  at  the  minute, 
for  they  had  been  caught  by  something  in  the  dim 
white  evening  that  was  fast  darkening  round  them. 

' '  Mary, ' '  he  said,  with  a  quickened  sound  in  his 
voice,  ' '  Is  that  a  light  down  there — look !  to  your 
left." 

She  turned  quickly  and  followed  the  direction 
of  his  arm.  For  a  minute  some  pale  radiance 
seemed  to  hang  in  the  fog  and  then  was  utterly 
obscured.  It  showed  nebulous,  indefinite,  too  near 
the  earth  for  any  light  of  moon  or  stars  even  if  the 
mist  had  not  obscured  them,  and  even  as  Mary 
strained  her  eyes  to  distinguish  it,  it  appeared  to 
move,  drifting  in  the  fog  like  some  will-o  '-the-wisp. 

"  It  looks  like  a  wandering  fire!  "  she  ex- 
claimed, excitement  stringing  her  tired  voice. 
' '  Come  on,  Jeff — we  had  better  follow  it !  " 

They  were  both  on  their  feet  with  the  words, 
but  Bromley  laid  his  hand  on  her  arm  and  re- 
strained her. 

"  Wait  a  minute,"  he  said.  "  It's  gone  again. 
There  is  no  use  in  plunging  into  the  fog  without 
a  guide.  We  are  better  off  here, ' ' 


WANDERING  FIRES  199 

They  stood  side  by  side  in  a  tense  silence,  looking 
into  the  white  wall  of  nothingness.  And  still  the 
fog  wreathed  about  them  like  a  shroud. 

"  We  are  pixie-led!  "  said  Mary,  with  a  little 
tremulous  laugh. 

1  i  No — there  it  is  again — to  your  right  now !  ' 

He  seized  the  girl's  hand  and  started  in  pursuit, 
almost  dragging  her  over  the  rough  ground  so  that 
she  stumbled  and  clung  to  his  arm.  The  light 
expanded  and  quivered,  then  almost  dwindled 
away  and  then  appeared  again,  drifting  to  and  fro 
before  them  in  one  place  or  another,  but  never  sta- 
tionary. It  was,  as  Mary  said,  like  being  led  by 
the  pixies  of  the  Moor.  Bromley  plunged  on  reck- 
lessly, being  now  pledged  to  the  pursuit  and  afraid 
to  lose  the  light,  and  found  himself  going  downhill 
away  from  the  sheltering  wrall  that  had  at  least 
seemed  friendly  in  that  waste  of  obscurity.  A  lit- 
tle eerie  feeling  of  dread  began  to  creep  over  him, 
and  the  chill  damp  felt  its  way  to  his  heart.  For 
the  war  had  laid  its  mark  upon  him  as  well  as 
others,  and  he  was  not  the  sound  man  he  had  been 
before  those  brief  years  of  service,  though  he 
showed  it  little.  The  curious  part  was  that  they 
never  seemed  to  get  nearer  to  the  light,  though 
they  almost  ran,  and  all  he  could  comfort  himself 
with  was  that  they  had  not  lost  it. 

1 '  It  must  lead  us  somewhere  at  last !  ' '  he  said 
desperately. 

"We  are  following  wandering  fires!"  said 
Mary  under  her  breath.  She  shivered  a  little,  and 
remembered  what  Thome  had  said  to  her  at  Roe- 
hampton :  ' '  You  will  follow  wandering  fires,  but 
you  will  always  come  back  to  me !  "  They  seemed 
so  far  from  civilisation  out  here  in  the  fog  on 
Dartmoor  that  Eddie's  vivid  personality  was 
something  incongruous,  out  of  the  picture.  Life, 


200  WANDERING  FIRES 

at  the  moment,  consisted  of  Jeff  Bromley  and  her- 
self and  a  world  circumscribed  by  a  white  shroud. 
She  felt  herself  pressed  against  his  side  as  he 
steered  her  over  dried  heather  and  granite  with 
her  hand  under  his  arm,  and  their  mad  steps 
seemed  spellbound  by  that  purposeless  flame. 

"  It  is  no  use — it  is  only  leading  us  further  into 
the  Moor,"  she  said,  with  a  catch  in  her  breath. 

He  slackened  speed.  "  Would  you  like  to  give 
it  up?  Can't  you  walk  any  further?  "  he  said 
anxiously. 

"  I  don't  mind — but  I  feel  in  a  dream." 

"So  do  I!" 

The  quick,  soft  words  seemed  to  slip  from  him 
involuntarily,  and  then  they  were  both  silent, 
stumbling  on  together  in  the  white  darkness.  The 
luring  light  hovered  a  minute  in  the  mist  as  if 
uncertain,  dropped  lower,  and  became  stationary 
for  the  first  time. 

"  Stand  still  a  moment,"  said  Bromley  hoarsely, 
1 '  and  let  me  go  forward  and  see  what  is  there. ' ' 

11  No,  I  must  come  too.  If  you  leave  me  I  shall 
lose  you." 

1 1  I  will  come  back ' 

But  she  clung  to  his  arm  and  he  was  forced  to 
take  her  with  him  towards  the  sentinel  flame.  The 
fog  was  still  so  thick  that  there  was  no  visibility 
beyond  a  foot  or  so  around  them,  but  as  they  ad- 
vanced the  light  dwindled  rather  than  increased, 
and  sharpened  in  outline,  until  it  was  a  genuine 
flame  shining  from  some  material  source.  Then 
Bromley  shouted,  so  suddenly  that  he  startled  his 
companion,  and  ran  the  last  few  yards  over  the 
rough  grass  to  a  three-sided  shelter  glooming  up 
on  the  hillside. 

"  Is  there  anybody  there?  For  God's  sake 
show  a  light!  We're  lost  in  the  fog,"  he  said. 


WANDERING  FIRES  201 

The  light  burned  steadily  now,  with  no  super- 
natural agency,  from  the  open  shutter  of  a  shep- 
herd 's  lantern ;  and  in  the  entrance  to  the  shelter 
stood  an  old  moorsman,  his  sullen,  suspicious  face 
peering  at  them  under  a  ragged  cap.  On  a  bed 
of  rough  bracken  inside  the  hut  lay  a  sick  sheep, 
and  his  errand  was  obvious  even  before  he  spoke, 
in  such  broad  dialect  that  Bromley  had  some  diffi- 
culty in  understanding  him  or  making  himself 
understood. 

"  He  has  come  to  look  after  his  sheep — his  farm 
is  two  miles  off  across  the  Moor,"  he  said  rapidly 
to  Mary,  who  still  stood  clinging  to  his  arm  me- 
chanically. "  He  says  we  are  only  a  mile  from 
our  own  farm  house — he  passes  it  on  his  way  back 
and  we  can  follow  him.  We  must  have  been  walk- 
ing in  circles  for  hours !  ' ' 

11  It's  a  good  thing  it's  only  a  mile,"  said  Mary, 
trying  to  laugh.  "  I  couldn't  walk  much  more!  " 

"  I  wonder  if  he  has  any  food?  Shall  I  ask 
him?  " 

"  Oh,  no — for  heaven's  sake!  I  couldn't  eat 
food  he  had  carried  about  with  him.  All  I  want 
is  to  get  back  to  the  farm.  I'll  eat  then." 

"  You  will  go  straight  to  bed,"  said  Bromley 
authoritatively,  tucking  her  hand  under  his  arm 
again.  "  And  I'll  send  Mrs.  Thirlston  to  look 
after  you. ' ' 

They  waited  till  the  old  moorsman  had  tended 
his  sheep,  and  then  followed  him  jealously  over  the 
Moor,  his  lantern  jiggering  along  in  front  of  them 
as  it  had  done  when  they  first  started  in  pursuit 
of  it.  It  was  the  fog  which  had  made  it  appear 
so  large  and  nebulous.  The  old  man  was  surly 
and  taciturn,  for  he  did  not  like  "  foreigners," 
as  he  called  anyone  not  born  on  the  Moor ;  but  they 
pressed  hard  on  his  heels,  determined  not  to  lose 


202  WANDEBING  FIEES 

him,  and  indifferent  to  his  lack  of  goodwill  so  long 
as  he  took  them  home.  Mary  felt  at  last  as  if  she 
were  almost  asleep.  The  dream  feeling  of  the 
white  shroud  over  a  world  that  was  blotted  out  en- 
veloped her  until  she  did  not  know  if  the  ground 
were  broken,  or  her  tired  feet  stumbled,  or  why 
the  last  half-mile  grew  easier.  Something  seemed 
to  lift  her  over  the  rough  places,  until  she  was 
gradually  aware  that  Bromley  had  passed  his  arm 
round  her  and  was  strongly  supporting  her.  It 
did  not  seem  to  matter.  Nothing  mattered  but 
her  recognition  of  the  last  hundred  yards  of  road 
and  the  lights  from  the  farm  windows,  and  then 
the  door  opening  to  show  a  group  of  startled  faces 
in  the  aperture.  She  heard  herself  say  "  Thank 
God!  "  with  a  little  laugh  that  was  half  a  sob, 
and  Alicia  Thirlston  took  her  from  Bromley  and 
helped  her  upstairs  in  her  turn,  giving  orders  in 
her  composed,  decisive  voice  even  as  she  did  so. 

11  Go  and  get  some  hot  whisky  and  water,  Mr. 
Cunningham.  Miss  Grey,  will  you  tell  the  cook  to 
send  up  some  supper  on  a  tray,  and  have  the  hot- 
water  bottles  filled?  Mr.  Bromley,  please  look 
after  yourself,  and  try  to  save  a  chill." 

Jeff  Bromley  followed  them  to  the  foot  of  the 
stairs.  "  You  will  take  care  of  her,  Mrs.  Thirl- 
ston? She  is  worn  out." 

"  Yes,  of  course.  Don't  let  them  keep  you  talk- 
ing before  you  change  your  clothes.  You  cannot 
afford  to  run  risks  after  your  experiences  in  the 
war.  Even  Miss  Tref usis  is  damp  all  over. ' '  Her 
thin  arm  under  Mary's  felt  like  nervous  steel. 
She  was  stronger  than  she  looked,  this  old  lady. 
She  helped  the  girl  to  get  straight  into  bed  with- 
out a  single  question,  and  as  soon  as  the  hot- 
bottles  came  up  placed  them  at  her  feet  and  sides. 


WANDERING  FIEES  203 

The  sense  of  warmth  and  rest  made  Mary  drowsy 
almost  at  once,  and  she  only  roused  to  eat  her 
supper  and  drink  the  spirit  Mrs.  Thirlston  had 
prescribed. 

"  Were  you  very  frightened  about  us?  "  she 
asked,  looking  up  at  the  housekeeper  with  lovely, 
sleepy  eyes.  "  We've  been  lost  since  about  four 
o  'clock,  and  we  sat  under  a  stone  wall  forever.  I 
thought  it  was  the  end  of  the  world,  and  that  we 
were  in  our  shrouds. ' ' 

"  I  am  very  glad  Mr.  Bromley  was  with  you,'* 
was  all  Mrs.  Thirlston  said,  quietly. 

"  He  told  me  about  his  wife."  A  momentary 
flush  of  excitement  and  satisfaction  drove  the 
pallor  from  Mary's  sweet  face.  "  Did  you  know 
he  was  married?  I  believe  I  am  the  only  person 
here  he  has  told !  '  ' 

11  A  compliment." 

"  Yes.    Of  course  it's  in  confidence." 

"  Of  course." 

"  Is  he  all  right?    He  was  awfully  good  to  me." 

"  I  will  go  down  and  see  that  he  is  all  right,  if 
you  will  go  to  sleep." 

"I'm  nearly  asleep  now,"  said  Mary,  yawning. 
She  snuggled  down  into  her  pillows,  and  smiled 
like  the  angel  she  certainly  was  not.  Mrs.  Thirl- 
ston tucked  her  up  carefully  and  kissed  her  be- 
cause she  was  so  pretty.  She  had  always  been  a 
plain  woman  herself,  with  a  passionate  love  for 
the  beautiful. 

Two  minutes  later  Mary  was  sound  asleep,  and 
the  housekeeper  took  away  the  lamp  and  closed 
her  door.  But,  as  she  went  downstairs  again  to 
minister  to  Jeff  Bromley  in  his  turn,  her  long  up- 
per lip  was  drawn  a  thought  tighter,  as  was  usual 
when  she  was  disturbed. 


204  WANDERING  FIRES 

"  When  a  man  used  to  talk  about  his  wife  to 
me,"  she  said  to  herself,  "  I  always  knew  that  he 
thought  it  necessary  to  remind  himself  of  her 
existence!  "  Her  green  eyes  grew  infinitely  wise 
and  old.  "  It  had  better  have  been  Mr.  Edward 
Thome  who  was  lost  with  her  on  the  Moor,"  she 
said.  "  It  had  far,  far  better  have  been  Eddie 
Thome  I  " 


CHAPTER  XI 

MARY'S  chief  regret  in  leaving  Dartmoor  wa? 
that  she  must  part  from  Mrs.  Thirlston,  for 
the  housekeeper  would  not  stay  with  the 
company  when  they  went  into  rooms  by  and  for 
themselves;  it  was  only  when  Block  took  a  whole 
house  in  a  locality  where  they  were  at  work,  that 
he  engaged  somebody  to  run  it. 

"  You  must  come  and  see  me  in  London  when 
you  feel  inclined, ' '  said  the  old  lady  to  Mary.  *  *  I 
have  a  permanent  room  in  Hammersmith  where  I 
shall  be  in  the  spring,  but  fortunately  for  me  I 
have  another  engagement  as  a  kind  of  duenna  to 
tour  with  Laken  Fox's  girls  when  I  leave  you. 
They  are  quite  young  and  headstrong,  and  I  shall 
not  be  of  the  slightest  use.  But  Fox  is  an  anxious 
father,  and  still  clings  to  Victorian  institutions 
such  as  chaperons." 

"  Is  that  the  dramatist?  " 

"  Yes.  He  has  written  a  play  with  parts  for 
both  his  girls,  who  are  much  too  young  to  play 
them.  It  is  going  on  tour  for  a  trial,  and  I  am 
going  with  it. ' ' 

"I'm  sorry!  "  said  Mary  selfishly.  "  I  wish 
you  were  going  to  be  in  London  right  away.  Do 
give  me  your  address,  anyhow." 

4 '  It  is  only  a  large  room  under  the  roof  that  I 
share  with  the  sparrows,"  said  Mrs.  Thirlston 
as  she  wrote  it  down.  "  But  I  always  manage  to 
keep  it  on  for  the  sake  of  somewhere  to  put  my 

205 


206  WANDERING  FIEES 

boxes.  Even  if  you  learn  to  live  in  boxes  you 
can't  store  them.  I  think  my  attic  was  originally 
a  warehouse,  or  some  building  with  lofts,  the  ar- 
rangement is  so  quaint.  It  has  a  window  opening 
into  the  next  loft,  which  is  so  badly  ventilated  that 
my  neighbour  sometimes  begs  me  to  leave  it 
open. ' ' 

' '  Who  is  your  neighbour  f  ' 

"  She  varies.  But  if  she  is  not  on  the  stage 
also,  she  is  frequently  in  a  milliner's  workroom. 
The  worst  type  has  visitors,  and  forgets  that  I 
am  a  bored  audience  to  her  conversations.  Then 
I  bang  the  window  close.'* 

* l  Perhaps  I  shall  come  and  live  in  the  room  next 
door  some  day,"  said  Mary,  with  no  premonition 
of  despair.  "  And  I  shall  leave  the  window  open 
on  purpose,  and  have  Eddie  Thorne  to  tea,  and 
say  the  most  awful  things  to  shock  you!  ' 

Alicia  Thirlston  turned  her  green  eyes  on 
Mary's  radiant  face  with  the  oldest  of  all  her  old 
expressions.  "  Mr.  Thorne  could  not  shock  me 
because  I  gather  that  he  is  a  gentleman,"  she  said. 
"  I  never  quarrel  with  people's  morals — it  is  only 
their  manners  that  I  dislike.  If  you  had  Mr.  Cun- 
ningham to  tea,  now,  I  should  be  really  outraged ! 
He  might  come  in  a  sky-blue  shirt  that  I  had  been 
obliged  to  mend." 

"  I  won't  have  Mr.  Cunningham,"  said  Mary, 
laughing.  "  I  promise  you." 

The  company  went  back  to  London  at  the  end  of 
October  and  took  up  the  winter's  work  at  the 
studio.  Mr.  Block  had  bought  the  rights  of  a  book 
by  a  well-known  author  and  was  casting  it  with 
his  usual  attention  to  detail  and  with  a  ruthless 
disregard  of  heartburning  in  his  cast.  He  had  not 
been  able  to  go  to  Dartmoor,  and  was  relying  on 


WANDERING  FIEES  207 

Bromley  to  report  on  the  work  done  rather  than 
on  the  operator  or  his  nephew. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  Mary  Trefusis?  Is  she 
capable  of  anything  bigger  than  Angelica?  "  he 
asked  the  actor  in  confidence. 

"  She  has  much  more  training  and  experience, 
and  she  is  shaping  better, ' '  said  Bromley  in  a  non- 
committal tone. 

1 '  Could  she  play  a  big  part  f  ' ' 

"  What  sort  of  part?  ' 

"  The  part  of  a  woman,  and  not  a  child.  Con- 
found the  girl!  I  wish  she  would  fall  in  love.  I 
want  her  to  feel,  and  express  her  feeling.  She  has 
the  emotional  face,  and  it  is  all  locked  up  through 
lack  of  experience." 

"  I  think  " — Bromley  lit  a  cigarette  with  de- 
liberation— "  that  Miss  Trefusis  is  too  young  as 
yet  to  play  emotional  parts." 

"  That  means  that  you  don't  want  her  to  risk  it. 
What 's  come  to  you,  Jeff?  She  was  your  protegee, 
and  now  you  are  going  back  on  her." 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it,  my  dear  Bill.  But  I  naturally 
do  not  want  my  protegee  to  fail." 

Block  did  not  look  at  him,  but  his  big  hand 
thrummed  on  the  table  with  the  pencil  he  was  hold- 
ing, and  the  lack  of  expression  on  his  face  was 
more  expressive  than  words  to  anyone  who  knew 
him. 

"  Then  I  should  have  to  fall  back  on  Egan,"  he 
said. 

"  I  think  it  would  be  safer.  Of  course,  you  know 
best,  dear  old  boy." 

The  manager  rose  ponderously,  and  turned  his 
shrewd  eyes  once  on  the  other  man's  more  mobile 
face. 

"  Of  course  I  do  know  best,"  he  said.    "  And 


208  WANDERING  FIRES 

therefore,  Jeff,  I  am  going  to  try  Mary  Trefusis 
in  the  part  after  all !  " 

"  It  will  cause  a  lot  of  jealousy!  "  Bromley  ex- 
claimed anxiously. 

"  She  must  run  the  gauntlet  of  that.  Pshaw! 
she  will  like  it — she  is  just  the  sort  of  girl  who 
would  think  it  fun. ' ' 

"  It  isn't  fun  when  women  get  jealous." 

"  Look  here,  Bromley,  don't  try  to  mother  the 
girl.  It  is  not  your  business,  and  you  are  only 
laying  up  trouble  for  yourself.  As  I  understand 
it,  she  has  got  to  make  a  living,  and  she  can't  do 
that  in  cottonwool.  Let  her  stand  alone.  She  has 
got  to  do  it  sooner  or  later." 

Bromley  tried  to  laugh.  "  She  would  tell  you 
that  she  had  learned  to  do  that  long  since,"  he 
said.  "  But  you  can't  see  a  child  straying  into  the 
midst  of  heavy  traffic  without  an  instinct  to  snatch 
it  away." 

11  So  you've  been  snatching,"  said  the  manager 
slowly.  "  Don't  worry  about  Mary  Trefusis'  emo- 
tional power,  anyway.  I'll  lay  you  a  sovereign 
she  plays  the  part  all  right,  and  justifies  your  in- 
troduction. Of  course  '  —he  crossed  the  room 
with  wonderful  lightness  for  a  heavy  man,  and 
struck  a  match  on  the  mantelpiece — "  you  are 
playing  with  her." 

"  Thanks,"  said  Bromley,  with  the  face  he  wore 
when  at  cards.  "  I  will  do  my  best  to  help  her 
through." 

Mary  was,  naturally,  flushed  into  sudden  tri- 
umph when  Mr.  Block  sent  for  her  to  talk  over  the 
new  film  and  offered  her  the  principal  woman's 
part  in  it ;  but  it  was  significant  of  a  certain  alter- 
ation in  her  that  her  exultation  was  succeeded  by 
depression.  She  had  lost  the  happiness  of  igno- 
rance and  not  gained  assurance  in  its  place.  She 


WANDERING  FIRES  209 

did  not  think  that  she  could  play  the  part,  and  she 
dreaded  failure. 

"  It  will  be  worse  to  be  offered  a  free  kick  and 
not  to  make  good,  than  to  go  on  walking  through 
Angelicas,"  she  said  to  Gladys  Smythe. 

11  You  will  make  good — you  won't  fail,  Mary!  ' 
Mrs.  Smythe 's  voice  trembled  with  her  earnest- 
ness, and  she  looked  up  at  her  taller  idol  with  the 
eyes  of  a  devotee.  She  was  more  engrossed  in  the 
part  than  Mary  herself,  and  perhaps  it  was  due 
to  her  enthusiasm  that  Mary  took  it  so  much  more 
seriously  than  "  Angelica,"  and  threw  all  her  ca- 
pabilities into  the  work  instead  of  allowing  herself 
to  be  distracted  by  the  allurements  of  London. 

' '  If  we  can  only  keep  her  to  it,  she  has  a  hun- 
dred to  one  better  chance  than  if  she  rags  herself 
out  in  town  the  minute  the  work  is  over,"  Brom- 
ley confided  to  Gladys.  "  You  are  my  best  help, 
for  she  is  fond  of  you  and  hates  to  disappoint 
you. ' ' 


< . 


We  must  keep  her  to  it.  If  the  part  would 
only  take  hold  of  her  as  it  has  of  me !  But  then, ' ' 
said  Mrs.  Smythe,  with  an  innocence  that  nearly 
betrayed  Bromley,  "  it  is  a  married  woman's  part, 
and  I  do  not  gee  how  you  can  expect  a  girl  to  un- 
derstand it." 

"  It  is  simply  a  question  of  forbidden  love,  isn't 
it?  "  said  Jeff  gently.  "  A  wroman  might  be  un- 
married, and  still  find  love  forbidden. ' ' 

The  application  was  a  literal  one  to  Gladys 
Smythe 's  mind.  She  looked  at  him  with  startled 
eyes.  "  You  don't  mean  that  horrid  man!  " 

"  What  horrid  man?  "  Bromley  was  as  shocked 
as  she  had  been. 

"  Thome." 

"  Good  heavens,  no!  " 

"  Well,  I  was  always  afraid — but  thank  God 


210  WANDERING  FIEES 

he's  gone.  She  told  me  he  was  at  Monte  Carlo, 
gambling  or  something,  because  his  wife  had  run 
away  from  him." 

"  Poor  devil!  " 

"  I  really  don't  wonder.  Only  I  wish  the 
woman  had  stayed  to  look  after  him.  If  he  were 
in  London  Mary  would  be  racing  all  over  the  place 
with  him." 

"  It's  not  only  Thorne.  It's  every  man  who 
knows  her." 

11  I  don't  think  she  will  go  out  much  just  now 
though,"  said  Mrs.  Smythe,  breaking  down  into 
a  rueful  smile.  "  She  says  she  is  shabby,  and 
can 't  buy  any  new  clothes  until  she  gets  the  bigger 
salary." 

Bromley's  face  quickened  to  distress.  "  Poor 
child!  Is  she  really  hard  up?  I  was  afraid  she 
would  feel  it." 

"  Oh,  not  for  necessaries — but  the  things  she  is 
used  to.  /  think  she  looks  beautiful,  and  different 
to  everyone  else." 

"  Yes,  she  is  different,"  said  Bromley,  from  the 
bottom  of  his  heart  and  convictions.  He  had 
realised  the  difference  between  Mary's  tailored 
mourning  and  the  coats  and  skirts  and  blouses 
worn  by  Eobin  Ward  and  Ellen  Grey.  Even  Miss 
Egan  was  bourgeoise  compared  with  her.  Brom- 
ley thought  it  was  the  simplicity  of  Mary's  appear- 
ance, the  never  wearing  too  much  or,  for  that  mat- 
ter, too  little;  and  he  did  not  realise  the  cost  of 
cut  and  material,  or  that  Miss  Trefusis  had  always 
had  her  clothes  from  reliable  houses  and  had 
started  with  what  would  be  technically  termed  * '  a 
good  wardrobe  "  on  the  stage.  Four  or  five 
months'  wear  had  not  rendered  them  really 
shabby,  even  though  she  had  used  them  for  picture 
work;  but  she  was  accustomed  to  replace  as  soon 


WANDERING  FIEES  211 

as  she  tired  of  things,  rather  than  because  they 
were  worn,  and  it  was  a  new  and  disconcerting  ex- 
perience to  find  that  she  must  say  no  to  herself 
for  once.  To  do  her  justice,  she  had  not  run  up 
bills  as  yet,  and  she  took  her  restrictions  good- 
humouredly,  though  she  did  not  like  them.  When 
she  played  lead,  she  would  of  course  get  the  larger 
salary  for  which  she  told  Gladys  Smythe  that  she 
was  waiting,  but  William  Block  never  paid  a 
novice  more  than  she  was  worth,  and  the  swollen 
incomes  attributed  to  cinema  stars  are  not  gained 
until  they  are  established  favourites  with  the  pub- 
lic. Nor  does  the  production  of  a  film  equal  the 
duration  of  a  successful  play.  Mary  might  earn 
fifty  or  sixty  pounds  for  her  work  in  the  new  pic- 
tures ;  but  she  had  begun  to  realise  that  her  gowns 
had  cost  her  twenty,  and  that  a  girl  in  her  former 
position  does  not  have  to  calculate  the  expenses  of 
a  home  as  well.  It  was,  anyhow,  a  laughing  excuse 
for  refusing  invitations  she  did  not  want  to  accept, 
and  Mrs.  Smythe  was  right  when  she  said  that 
Mary  would  not  be  always  running  about  to  tea- 
parties  or  dancing-clubs  unless  she  knew  that  she 
was  properly  turned  out.  Of  course  the  young  men 
of  the  company  implored  her  daily  to  accompany 
them  after  the  day's  work  was  over,  but,  as 
Thorne  had  said,  "  It  is  BO  easy  to  say  no  when 
there  is  no  inclination  to  say  yes !  ' ' — and  Mary 
did  not  in  the  least  care  about  Arnold  Grey  or 
Percy  Cunningham  as  an  escort.  Her  relations 
with  Bromley  were  as  perfectly  friendly  as  ever, 
and  she  appropriated  him  as  her  own  property 
without  the  least  idea  of  selfishness  or  that  sho 
might  be  making  a  heavy  demand  upon  him.  If 
she  had  a  conscience-prick  it  was  that  she  had 
taken  him  from  Nell  Grey;  but  then  it  might  have 
been  only  in  the  country  that  they  had  gone  for 


212  WANDEBING  FIRES 

excursions  together,  a  chance  thing  that  her  ap- 
pearance in  their  lives  had  not  really  spoiled.  She 
had  grown  dependent  upon  Bromley  during  their 
sojourn  on  the  Moor,  and  she  did  not  relax  her 
claim  on  him  when  they  came  back  to  Roehampton. 
The  first  breach  in  their  friendship  was  caused 
by  his  forgetting  the  date  of  her  birthday,  an  in- 
conceivable carelessness  to  the  spoilt  child  whose 
egotism  resented  the  neglect  as  a  personal  slight. 
The  birthday  fell  happily  on  a  Sunday,  and  she 
had  planned  to  take  Bromley  into  the  Club  and 
play  golf  with  him,  looking  to  Eddie  Thome  to 
supply  the  passes.  She  had  written  to  Eddie  at 
Monte  Carlo  to  ask  for  them  some  time  before,  and 
received  the  answer  by  a  happy  coincidence  on 
the  very  date,  the  postman  having  given  it  in  next 
door  on  the  Saturday  evening,  by  mistake. 
Thofne  was  generally  happy  in  his  coincidences, 
but  it  looked  as  if  he  had  taken  some  trouble  to 
time  his  letter,  at  least.  He  wrote  very  kindly, 
and  in  his  usual  manner : 

"  MY  DEAR  MOLLY, 

"  Many  thanks  for  letter.  Much  appreciated. 
Best  of  luck  to  you  and  wishes  and  merry  times 
for  the  birthday.  I  should  very  much  like  to  have 
a  chat  and  see  you.  No  chance  of  it  at  present, 
I'm  afraid.  I  enclose  the  passes,  which  by  good 
chance  I  happened  to  have  with  me,  but  I  don't 
like  it  one  bit  your  going  there  with  another  man. 
Who  is  he?  Afraid  you  will  have  to  pay  on  his 
pass  anyhow.  I  suppose  it  is  wintry  in  England. 
Not  too  warm  here  at  night,  though  hot  in  the  day. 
People  wrap  themselves  up  in  all  sorts  of  things  to 
keep  the  wind  out,  but  no  use  at  all.  You  might 
just  as  well  go  about  with  nothing  on,  and  you 
would  be  much  more  popular  too.  The  hotel 


213 

is  full,  but  an  uninteresting  crowd.     Nothing  to 
look  at,  so  I  don't  look. 

"  Yours  ever, 

"  EDDIE." 

There  was  not  a  word  of  his  personal  tragedy, 
and  Mary  had  not  offered  him  a  useless  sympathy 
save  that  her  own  letter  had  been  more  affectionate 
thr.n  usual.  She  was  as  pleased  as  a  child  that  his 
letter  should  arrive  actually  on  her  birthday  morn- 
ing, and  flung  it  at  Gladys  Smythe  that  Thorne 
would  never  forget  her.  But  her  shining  eyes  and 
the  one  dimple  in  play  disarmed  Gladys,  who  was 
fatuous  enough  to  tell  her  that  no  man  would,  and 
to  have  no  doubt  of  her  own  assertion.  Mary  had 
mentioned  the  date  to  Bromley  weeks  beforehand, 
and  taken  it  for  granted  that  he  would  be  at  her 
disposal  for  the  whole  day,  as  would  certainly  have 
been  the  case  had  not  Block  himself  asked  him  to 
lunch  and  to  discuss  certain  business  connected 
with  the  new  film.  Bromley  was  his  leading  man, 
and  they  were  such  intimate  friends  that  the  man- 
ager had  even  taken  advice  from  him  at  times,  a 
compliment  he  paid  to  very  few.  Jeff  had  for- 
gotten the  fact  that  it  was  Mary's  birthday,  and, 
thinking  that  he  had  no  engagement,  he  went  off  to 
lunch  with  Block  without  another  thought,  and  the 
day  wore  on  and  he  never  appeared  at  Laurel 
Lodge  or  even  sent  an  apology. 

Mary  had  been  looking  forward  to  her  golf. 
She  played  it  as  well  as  she  played  other  games, 
and  had  missed  the  outdoor  pursuits  to  which  she 
was  accustomed.  Knowing  that  Bromley,  like  all 
actors,  was  as  keen  as  she,  she  had  not  troubled  to 
tell  him  her  plans  for  the  day  if  she  got  the  Eoe- 
hampton  passes  in  time,  but  had  left  it  as  a  pleas- 
ant surprise.  They  would  play  all  the  morning, 


214  WANDERING  FIEES 

lunch  at  the  Club,  and  perhaps  play  another  round 
afterwards  before  returning  for  the  glorified  tea 
that  Mrs.  Smythe  prepared.  The  evening  held 
further  possibilities,  to  be  discussed  during  the 
day.  When  Bromley  did  not  put  in  an  appearance, 
or  write  or  telephone,  Mrs.  Smythe  was  dismayed, 
almost  to  the  point  of  thinking  that  he  had  met 
with  a  serious  accident;  but  Mary's  first  indigna- 
tion deepened  to  a  white  heat  of  anger  as  the  short 
winter's  day  progressed  and  she  found  the 
precious  hours  wasted  like  her  plans.  She  was 
angry  as  only  a  woman  can  be  who  feels  that  she 
has  put  herself  in  the  wrong  by  taking  too  much 
for  granted.  Gladys  had  never  seen  her  in  a  tem- 
per before,  and  regarded  her  with  a  kind  of  curi- 
ous admiration.  It  was  magnificent.  She  wished 
that  Bromley  could  see  it ! — her  allegiance  divided 
between  indignation  for  Mary  and  a  conviction 
that  the  actor  was  quite  incapable  of  discourtesy 
and  was  suffering  for  a  mistake. 

The  first  that  Bromley  knew  of  his  disgrace  was 
a  note  from  Mary  which  greeted  him  on  his  return 
from  spending  the  day  with  Block.  It  was  frankly 
rude,  and  had  no  reserve  or  dignity  in  its  word- 
ing ;  but  it  being  top  late  to  go  in  person  and  make 
his  peace  he  wrote  in  answer,  and  the  reply  was  on 
Mary's  breakfast-tray  next  morning,  having  been 
left  by  hand. 

* '  I  am  on  my  knees  to  you  about  your  birthday 
— I  never  remember  people's  birthdays.  I  was 
the  busiest  little  thing  imaginable  yesterday,  with 
Block,  and  had  forgotten  the  date.  I  deserve  all 
that  you  say,  and  you  shall  make  me  do  anything 
you  like  as  a  penance. 

"  Yours, 

"  JEFF." 


WANDERING  FIRES  215 

Even  then  lie  had  not  realised  the  enormity  of 
his  behaviour,  since  he  thought  it  a  matter  for 
apology  and  forgiveness.  He  did  not  even  wait  to 
hear  what  sentence  he  should  get.  But  when 
he  reached  the  studio  he  found  Mary  too  taken  up 
with  Arnold  Grey  to  do  more  than  recognise  his 
presence,  and  as  unconcerned  with  his  penitence 
as  she  was  with  him.  Bromley's  very  real  regret 
and  annoyance  with  himself  became  tinged  with 
discomfort  of  another  sort  as  he  passed  them  sit- 
ting on  the  stairs  outside  the  studio,  waiting  for 
their  summons. 

"  Would  you  like  to  come  to  Dizzy's  to-night?  ' 
young  Grey  was  saying.     "  It's  lots  of  fun.     I 
should  like  to  take  you  to  Dizzy's." 

"  What  is  Dizzy's?  " 

'  *  A  dancing-club,  of  course.  All  the  profession 
goes.  It's  a  bit  hot,  but  you  don't  mind  that?  " 

Bromley's  face  was  quite  expressionless,  though 
behind  that  excellent  mask  he  was  debating 
whether  he  should  go  back  to  the  couple  and  risk 
more  fury.  But  there  was  a  great  mirror  leaning 
against  the  wall  outside  the  studio,  a  stage  prop- 
erty, and  in  it  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  Mary's  face. 
Thank  heaven !  That  young  ass  Arnold  was  guy- 
ing his  own  show ! 

"  No,  thanks,"  he  heard  Miss  Trefusis  say  in 
her  young,  uncompromising  voice,  "  I've  been  to 
every  dancing-club  in  London  worth  going  to,  and 
I  don't  care  for  those  that  are  not." 

11  Euchred!  "  said  Bromley  to  himself,  with 
satisfaction,  and  he  passed  on  to  his  work  as  if 
Mary  mattered  as  little  to  him  as  he  to  her. 

But  he  would  not  have  been  quite  so  satisfied 
had  he  known  the  peculiar  workings  of  Mary's 
mind.  Her  father  had  once  compared  her  to  a 
game  of  billiards :  "If  you  want  to  make  a  break 


216  WANDERING  FIRES 

with  Mary,  you  must  cannon  off  a  cushion  before 
running  into  a  pocket,"  he  said.  "  Her  tempera- 
ment is  all  angles,  and  not  always  natural  ones." 
The  result  of  Grey's  invitation  was  that  he  was 
snubbed,  and  Dizzy's  relegated  to  the  nethermost 
pit  of  the  Impossible.  But  when  Mary  reached 
home  that  day  she  found  a  much-travelled  letter  in 
an  unknown  hand,  whose  signature  puzzled  her 
extremely  at  first.  "  Oliver  Ogilvie."  Now  who 
on  earth  was  Oliver  Ogilvie,  and  what  on  earth  did 
he  mean  by  a  lasting  impression  from  one  meeting, 
and  haunting  the  Stores  for  a  glimpse  of  her  I  "I 
haven't  been  to  the  Stores  for  six  months — not 
since  father  died  and  the  ticket  lapsed,"  she  said 
to  herself.  "  The  last  time  I  was  there  .  .  . 
Why !  it 's  the  youth  who  bought  the  muff-chain !  ' 

Her  brows  were  still  stormy  from  the  memory 
of  Bromley's  delinquencies,  but  the  corners  of  her 
lips  began  to  lift  ominously  to  anyone  who  knew 
her.  What  a  little  cad  Nell's  brother  was  to  ask 
her  to  go  to  a  second-rate  dancing-club!  Those 
people  didn't  know  .  .  .  What  was  Dizzy's? 
Robin  Ward  had  been  there — she  was  talking 
about  it  one  day  to  little  Mrs.  Paterson,  who 
did  piece-work  for  them  at  times.  Nell  didn't 
go  to  night  clubs — Nell  was  a  prig.  "  I  suppose 
Jeff  Bromley  would  not  approve,  that's  why," 
thought  Mary.  Let  him  disapprove — it  was  no 
business  of  his.  .  .  . 

Mary  took  up  her  writing-case  deliberately  and 
answered  Oliver  Ogilvie 's  letter. 

"  DEAB  ME.  OGILVIE, 

"  Your  letter  has  followed  me  round.  Of  course 
I  remember  you  and  helping  you  to  buy  a  muff- 
chain  for  a  friend  of  yours,  at  the  Stores.  I  hope 
she  liked  it.  I  thought  it  was  charming.  A  lot  of 


WANDERING  FIRES  217 

changes  have  taken  place  in  my  life  since  I  saw  you 
that  are  rather  curious.  I  am  on  the  cinema  stage, 
and  appearing  in  pictures.  Perhaps  some  day 
you  '11  see  me  in  one,  and  recognise  me. 

"  Yours  sincerely, 

11  MAHY  TKEFUSIS. 

1 '  By  the  way,  do  you  know  a  dancing  club  called 
Dizzy's?  I  have  never  been  there,  but  a  lot  of 
cinema  people  go.  I  want  to  hear  what  it  is  like. ' ' 

You  will  observe  from  this  letter  that  she  did 
not  want  to  see  what  Dizzy's  was  like.  Oh,  no! 
she  only  wanted  to  hear  about  it,  from  Mr.  Ogil- 
vie's  more  masculine  experience.  The  letter  wa,s 
posted  that  evening,  and  must  have  reached  Mr. 
Ogilvie  by  the  devil's  agency  next  morning,  since 
it  was  a  thousand  to  one  chance  that  he  should  be 
in  the  club  where  it  was  addressed.  Mary's  anger 
had  not  had  time  to  simmer  down  before  she  re- 
ceived an  answer  sufficiently  abject  to  be  as  balm 
to  her  pride.  Might  he  ask  her  to  dine  with  him 
and  take  her  to  Dizzy's?  She  would  be  all  right 
with  him — it  was  not  a  place  where  ladies  could  go 
unescorted.  She  might  even  be  amused,  and  he 
would  take  such  good  care  of  her.  If  she  knew 
what  pleasure  she  would  be  giving  him  she  would 
surely  say  yes!  "  Do  please  say  yes!  It  means 
nothing  to  you,  and  so  much  to  me.'*  (He  was  a 
nice  boy,  after  all.)  There  was  a  paid  telegram 
form  enclosed.  Mary  wired  "  Yes." 

Bromley  endured  the  wretched  relations  be- 
tween them  for  twenty-four  hours,  and  then  he 
went  to  Laurel  Lodge  to  make  his  peace,  since 
Mary  would  not  speak  to  him  at  the  studio, 
though  she  had  dropped  Arnold  Grey  as  rapidly 
as  she  had  taken  him  up.  But  Mrs.  Smytho 
greeted  him  with  dismay. 


218  WANDERING  FIRES 

"  She  has  gone  out  to-night,  and  I  don't  know 
where,  or  with  whom.  Oh,  Mr.  Bromley,  why 
didn't  you  turn  up  on  her  birthday !  ' ' 

* '  Because,  like  seven  asses,  I  forgot  all  about  it. 
She  told  me  the  date  so  long  ago  that  it  got 
crowded  out.'* 

"  You  can't  tell  her  that!  " 

"  Of  course  not.  She  won't  speak  to  me  as  it 
is."  He  added  savagely:  "  She  will  have  to, 
to-morrow.  It's  the  first  rehearsal  of  the  new  pic- 
ture and  her  big  part.  She  plays  with  me. ' ' 

"  She  will  be  upset,  and  play  so  badly!  And 
she  will  be  tired  too — she  does  not  expect  to  get 
back  till  late." 

"  You  have  no  idea  where  she  is?  " 

"  Only  that  she  went  up  to  town  half  an  hour 
ago. ' ' 

It  was  then  half -past  seven.  Bromley  shut  his 
mouth  into  its  hardest  lines  and  walked  back  to  his 
rooms,  where  he  changed  into  evening-dress  and 
ate  some  food  which  could  hardly  be  called  a  din- 
ner. He  had  begun  to  doubt  his  own  security  in 
Mary's  refusal  of  Dizzy's,  though  he  did  not  know 
with  whom  she  had  gone.  It  was  worth  trying, 
anyhow. 

When  he  entered  the  night  club  dancing  was 
already  going  on  intermittently  between  the  tables 
where  people  were  drinking  and  smoking.  Jeff 
was  hardly  inside  the  doors  before  he  was  rec- 
ognised, and  a  lady,  nodding  to  him,  deserted  her 
partner  to  join  him. 

"  Mr.  Bromley!  Never  saw  you  here  before. 
You  Ve  forgotten  me.  Met  you  in  Alexandria  just 
before  the  war  when  you  were  with  Burgess.  Lot- 
tie Mills  of  the  '  Scrag-end  ' — you  know!  " 

"  Oh,  yes — yes,  of  course."  Bromley's  smile 
was  no  less  charming  for  the  fact  that  he  was  using 


WANDERING  FIRES  219 

his  full  six  feet  to  see  over  the  heads  of  the  dancers 
to  discover  if  Mary  were  present.  * '  How  are  you, 
Lottie?  Got  a  shop  in  London  now!  " 

"I'm  on  at  the  Friv.  Give  me  a  turn,  Mr. 
Bromley. ' '  She  lifted  a  fat  white  arm  to  his  shoul- 
der, hardly  waiting  for  his  consent,  and  moved 
with  him  into  the  middle  of  the  hall,  dancing  ex- 
quisitely, for  it  was  her  profession.  Jeff  had  ac- 
cepted the  invitation  because  it  enabled  him  to 
get  into  the  thick  of  the  throng  and  see  who  was 
there,  and  they  dandled  in  each  other's  arms  for 
some  minutes  as  people  do  in  modern  dancing, 
hardly  advancing  round  the  room.  He  thought 
that  Lottie  liked  being  seen  with  him  because  he 
was  a  well-known  "  London  man  "  on  the  legiti- 
mate stage  before  he  took  to  cinema  work,  and 
as  his  absent  blue  eyes  looked  over  her  fluffy  little 
head  he  did  not  know  that  she  made  a  movement 
to  cuddle  herself  closer  in  his  arms,  or  that  her 
honest,  vulgar  little  heart  beat  faster  because  his 
hand  rested  on  her  naked  shoulder.  Jeff  Bromley 
had  had  as  much  attention  as  other  good-looking 
actors ;  but  if  it  did  not  interest  him  he  was  hardly 
aware  of  it.  And  at  the  present  moment  he  was 
looking  for  a  tall,  fair  girl  in  a  black  gown,  with 
a  pale  vivid  face  and  wide  eyes  that  were  not  so 
empty  as  six  months  ago.  .  .  . 

Other  partners  asked  him  to  dance,  or  hinted 
their  readiness  when  he  got  rid  of  Lottie — so  that 
he  had  tangoed  and  fox-trotted  and  hesitated  in  the 
waltz  for  half  an  hour  before  he  found  himself  at 
the  further  end  of  the  hall  outside  a  recess  where 
something  seemed  to  be  going  on.  There  were  two 
men  standing  at  the  entrance  watching  a  couple 
who  were  drinking  liqueurs  and  smoking  by  a 
small  table  within.  Jeff  looked  at  the  men  because 
they  were  plainly  not  actors,  but  of  a  type  which 


220  WANDERING  FIRES 

drifts  into  places  like  Dizzy's  to  see  life  in  another 
phase.  They  were  smart  men,  both  of  them,  with 
something  of  the  racing  stable  about  them  and 
more  than  one  bottle  of  champagne  inside.  Their 
voices  were  not  sufficiently  lowered  to  be  inaudible 
either  to  Bromley  or  the  couple  beyond  them. 

"  Saw  her  up  river  last  spring  with  Thorne," 
one  of  them  exclaimed  as  Bromley  drew  near 
them.  "  Knew  I'd  seen  her  somewhere.  I'll  lay 
you  a  fiver  it's  the  same." 

"  If  Eddie  Thorne  takes  a  pretty  woman  about 
she  'd  better  put  both  legs  into  one  stocking !  ' ' 
said  the  other. 

There  was  a  double  movement,  from  Bromley 
and  the  man  who  was  sitting  with  Mary  Trefusis. 
Jeff  had  caught  her  face  almost  as  the  racing  man 
spoke,  and  saw  her  companion  as  he  rose  abruptly 
and  faced  the  intruders — a  slight  youth,  hardly 
more  than  a  boy,  with  nothing  very  prepossessing 
about  him  but  honest  eyes  and  a  scarlet  anger  in 
his  face.  He  was  a  complete  stranger  to  Brom- 
ley, who  was  conscious  of  relief  that  he  was  not 
Arnold  Grey  or  Cunningham.  He  saw  in  the  same 
instant  that  he  could  not  interfere,  and  that  Mary's 
escort  could  and  would.  The  short,  sharp  words 
between  the  three  men  were  so  tangled  that  he 
hardly  heard  more  than  broken  sentences — "  If 
you  are  speaking  of  the  lady  with  me  .  .  ." 
"  Damn  you!  I  don't  know  you!  "  .  .  .  "  Apolo- 
gise, or  take  the  consequences !  ' ' — before  one  man 
had  struck  another  (he  did  not  himself  know 
who),  and  two  of  them  were  down  on  the  floor 
fighting  as  fiercely  as  any  roughs  in  the  East  End. 
There  was  a  rush  of  people  to  see  what  was  going 
on,  the  dancing  stopped,  and  the  officials  were  try- 
ing to  part  the  combatants.  In  the  midst  of  whicli 
Jeff's  eyes  met  Mary's,  large  and  more  excited 


WANDERING  FIRES  221 

than  frightened,  and  in  another  moment  her  hand 
was  on  his  arm.  l '  Come  with  me — quickly !  "  he 
said.  "  I  will  get  you  out  of  this." 

He  wrapped  her  cloak  round  her  even  as  he 
pulled  her  through  the  crowd,  and  by  sheer  force 
of  his  height  and  physical  strength  got  her  across 
the  hall  and  out  of  the  club,  without  pausing  to 
see  what  had  become  of  her  escort.  As  she  felt  the 
night  air  blowing  on  her  face  she  gave  a  little  gasp, 
and  she  faltered  as  if  faint;  but  he  hurried  her 
along  the  quiet  street  until  by  luck  he  found  an 
empty  taxi  and,  hailing  it,  put  her  in.  By  the  time 
he  had  followed  her  and  closed  the  door  she  turned 
a  perfectly  composed  face  to  him. 

' '  I  hope  Mr.  Ogilvie  will  not  get  into  trouble  on 
my  account,"  she  said. 

' '  It  is  his  affair, ' '  he  answered  with  a  set  mouth. 
"  He  should  not  have  taken  you  there  if  he  could 
not  save  you  from  annoyance." 

"  But  I  asked  him — I  would  go !  " 

"  You  might  have  asked  me — but  I  certainly 
should  not  have  let  you  go !  " 

She  looked  into  his  face  curiously,  and  saw  that 
it  was  true.  It  gave  her  a  little  thrill  of  fear  and 
delight,  a  new  stir  of  feeling  after  her  anger  with 
him.  They  sat  in  silence  for  a  minute  while  the 
taxi  rolled  smoothly  through  the  decorous  streets 
down  to  Victoria.  When  he  spoke  at  last  he  as- 
tonished her  by  a  remark  that  seemed  to  her  of 
secondary  importance. 

"  I  am  very  sorry  for  what  those  two  drunken 
swine  said  of  Mr.  Thome,  Mary.  I  do  not  believe 
it  is  true,  and  I  know  that  he  is  a  friend  of  yours. ' ' 

She  did  not  reply,  not  through  any  sense  of  hu- 
miliation or  embarrassment,  but  rather  with  a 
blank  realisation  of  the  difference  in  their  point  of 
view.  It  had  been  unpleasant  to  be  the  subject  of 


222  WANDERING  FIRES 

remark  and  the  cause  of  a  drunken  row  in  such  a 
place  as  Dizzy's.  But  as  to  the  actual  comment  on 
Eddie  Thorne,  it  would,  at  another  time,  have 
amused  her,  if  anything.  She  had  no  doubt  that  it 
was  true  in  a  general  sense,  and  she  was  young 
enough  to  have  a  secret  admiration  for  Thorne  as 
a  fast  man  rather  than  any  shrinking  from  the 
idea.  He  had  never  made  serious  love  to  her 
while  staying  in  her  father's  house,  it  is  true,  but 
she  had  sometimes  felt  the  situation  trembled  on 
the  border  of  something  forbidden,  and  had  not 
quite  discouraged  the  excitement  even  if  she  had 
not  provoked  it.  Thorne  was  sufficiently  a  gentle- 
man to  remember  his  obligations  to  his  absent 
host,  and  in  the  first  weeks  of  his  acquaintance 
with  Mary  he  had  only  flirted  by  looks  and  words 
— usually  effective  enough  from  him.  It  was  not 
until  the  day  at  Roehampton  that  he  had  even 
kissed  her;  but  then  it  must  be  remembered  that 
he  was  deeply  in  love  with  Petrova  during  the 
whole  of  his  periodical  friendship  with  Mary.  In 
the  frank  depths  of  her  own  mind  she  thought  it 
quite  possible  that  her  relations  with  him  might 
have  been  more  difficult  if  circumstances  had  not 
come  between  them,  and  she  even  wondered  if  she 
would  have  done — what  other  girls  of  her  ac- 
quaintance had  done  and  not  been  found  out. 
There  was  so  much  liberty  nowadays  that  it  was 
a  matter  of  personal  choice;  and  Eddie  was 
"  that  sort  of  man."  She  did  not  flinch  from  it; 
but  she  had  no  answer  to  give  Bromley. 

He  took  her  back  to  Roehampton  with  a  certain 
tender  care  that  she  felt  was  accentuated  to  con- 
sole her  for  what  had  happened;  and  though  she 
did  not  need  the  consolation,  the  added  chivalry 
gave  her  an  unusual,  exalted  feeling.  It  was 
not  until  they  were  walking  quietly  home  from 


WANDERING  FIEES  223 

Putney  station  that  lie  referred  to  their  quarrel. 

"  Mary,  are  you  going  to  forgive  me?  "  he  said 
suddenly,  and  in  the  eyes  looking  down  on  her 
there  was  something  new,  less  guarded,  and  almost 
yearning. 

The  girl's  lips  quivered  with  the  succession  of 
feelings  that  she  had  gone  through,  and  which  had 
left  her  more  emotional  than  usual. 

"  I  think  I  have  forgiven  you,"  she  said.  "  But 
you  were  a  beast,  Jeff !  ' 

11  I  know  I  was.  You  can't  say  anything  to  me 
I  haven't  said  to  myself."  He  drew  her  hand 
through  his  arm  and  pressed  it  against  his  side 
with  a  little  fierce  impulse.  "  You  mustn't  quar- 
rel with  me,  Maiy.  I  simply  can't  bear  it." 

"  Can't  you?  "  she  said,  with  a  hint  of  triumph 
in  her  voice.  "  I  wasn't  very  happy,  myself.  I 
don 't  want  to  quarrel,  Jeffy. ' ' 

She  wondered  whether  he  would  offer  to  kiss  and 
be  friends  again.  Almost  any  other  man  she  knew 
would  have  suggested  it,  and  she  would  most  casu- 
ally have  said  no  to  them — as  in  this  case  she  was 
faintly  aware  that  she  might  say  yes.  Eddie  was 
right  again :  "  It  is  so  easy  to  say  no  when  there 
is  no  inclination  to  say  yes!  ':  But  when  they 
reached  Laurel  Lodge  he  did  not  even  come  inside 
the  door,  though  there  was  a  propitious  dark  hall 
in  which  to  say  good-night.  He  stood  and  looked 
at  her  with  that  stirred  face  until  his  trouble 
seemed  to  reach  her  also,  and  she  turned  her  head 
away,  restlessly. 

"  Don't  be  late  at  rehearsal,  Mary,"  he  said,  in 
an  odd  voice.  "  It's  our  big  scenes  together,  you 
know — the  first  rehearsal.  I  shall  be  waiting  for 
you.  I  hope  you  won't  be  very  tired  from  to- 
night? " 

"  I  shall  be  all  right,"  she  said,  still  half  ex- 


224  WANDERING  FIRES 

pectant  of  she  knew  not  what.  "  Good-night, 
Jeffy."  ^ 

He  raised  his  soft  hat  as  she  entered  the  dark 
hall,  but  still  stood  a  moment  looking  after  her  as 
if  in  a  dream.  Although  he  did  not  intend  it,  the 
thwarted  feeling  he  had  raised  in  Mary  Trefusis 
was  the  best  stimulant  he  could  have  given  her 
for  success  in  the*  pictures.  She  was  obliged  to 
throw  into  the  mimic  scenes  the  unsatisfied  senses 
he  had  wakened  in  her,  and  to  act  what  she  had 
not  experienced  was  her  only  outlet.  She  sur- 
prised herself  a  little  by  her  realisation  of  the  part, 
and  the  new  meaning  there  seemed  to  be  in  the 
actions  and  words  of  the  heroine — words  that 
seemed  to  come  so  naturally  to  express  herself, 
though  when  she  had  played  ' '  Angelica  ' '  she  had 
found  the  extemporary  speeches  the  most  difficult 
part  of  her  work.  But  she  frightened  Jefferson 
Bromley  behind  the  perfect  mask  of  his  acting  face 
and  unbetraying  manner. 

'  *  My  God !  she  is  a  woman  and  not  a  girl  when 
she  plays  with  me !  "  he  said  in  his  heart.  ' '  What 
have  we  done?  .  .  .  What  are  we  doing?  ..." 

And  William  Block,  watching  the  performance 
from  beneath  a  sheltering  hand  over  his  searching 
eyes,  was  very  nearly  satisfied. 

"  I  shall  win  that  sovereign,  Jeff!  "  he  said  to 
himself. 


CHAPTER  XII 

MES.  CARPENTER  came  away  from  the 
gaming-tables  the  richer  by  twenty  louis, 
and  congratulated  herself  upon  her  strength 
of  mind  in  not  staking  again,  though  she  knew 
perfectly  well  that  she  would  go  back  to  the  tables 
to-morrow  and  lose  it  all,  and  more.  For  she  was 
a  gambler  by  instinct,  though  she  said  she  went 
to  Monte  Carlo  to  study  character  in  the  faces 
there  rather  than  to  play,  because  it  amused  and 
interested  her.  If  she  deceived  herself  under  this 
plea  she  did  not  deceive  her  husband,  who 
shrugged  his  shoulders  and  played  bridge  at  the 
hotel  which  he  infinitely  preferred.  Between  them 
they  generally  lost  as  much  income  as  would  es- 
cape the  tax  in  England,  and  they  called  this 
pleasure. 

The  March  evening  was  warm  for  a  change — 
there  had  been  a  bitter  wind  after  sunset  of  late — 
and  the  band  in  the  concert  hall  was  playing 
Berlioz'  "  Faust  "  as  Mrs.  Carpenter  strolled  out 
into  the  gardens.  There  were  plenty  of  people  in 
the  hall,  listening  to  "  Faust  "  in  preference  to 
bearing  the  heat  of  the  Casino,  but  she  sat  down 
for  a  minute  on  a  seat  outside  the  building, 
vaguely  conscious  that  the  whole  scene  of  the  gar- 
dens, and  the  music,  were  exquisite,  and  inclined 
to  plume  herself  again  in  that  she  had  come  out 
to  enjoy  them  instead  of  gambling.  There  was 
only  one  other  person  near  her,  and  he  was  so 
quiet  as  to  quicken  her  interest  in  a — possibly — 

225 


226  WANDERING  FIRES 

ruined  gambler.  Perhaps  it  was  a  silence  of  de- 
spair, or  the  calm  before  the  storm  when  he  real- 
ised that  he  was  lost.  How  thrilling !  She  glanced 
at  him,  and  saw  that  he  was  smart  as  only  an 
Englishman  is  smart,  and  that  he  was  simply 
listening  as  she  was  to  the  music  from  the  concert 
hall,  and  so  absorbed  that  he  really  did  not  notice 
her  presence.  He  was  following  the  "  Ballet  des 
Sylphes  "  with  an  appreciation  that  was  almost 
breathless,  and  his  eyes  were  not  quite  dry — very 
dark  eyes,  in  contrast  to  his  fair  skin  and  brown 
hair.  Mrs.  Carpenter  had  the  oddest  feeling  that 
it  was  someone  she  ought  to  know  and  didn't,  but 
it  really  took  her  some  minutes  to  disentangle 
her  rooted  convictions  about  this  man  and  the 
new  impression  of  him  sitting  with  the  face  of  a 
music-lover  in  a  quiet  spot  in  the  gardens  at  Monte 
Carlo.  She  had  the  sense  to  wait  for  the  end  of 
the  selection  before  she  spoke  to  him. 

' '  Mr.  Thorne  T  I  hardly  recognised  you  in  this 
dim  light. ' ' 

"  Oh,  how  do  you  do?  "  said  Eddie,  raising  his 
hat,  and  trying,  as  she  felt,  to  recall  her  name  as 
she  had  his  a  minute  since.  "  The  band  sounds 
just  as  well  from  here  as  in  the  hall,  doesn't  it? 
Pretty  thing,  that  last  was." 

"  Berlioz'  Faust—'  The  Dance  of  the  Sylphs/  ' 
said  Mrs.   Carpenter  succinctly.     "  Most  people 
only  know  Gounod's.     Somehow  I  thought  you 
would  be  in  the  thick  of  it,  at  the  tables,"  she 
added  almost  abruptly. 

"  Oh,  I  play,  but  I  always  stop  when  I've  lost 
or  won  a  certain  amount.  I  like  these  gardens  and 
the  band.  I  generally  go  into  the  cafe  in  the  morn- 
ing to  hear  it.  I'm  very  fond  of  music." 

This  was  so  obviously  and  simply  true  that  Clare 
Carpenter  was  again  nonplussed.  "  I  can  see  that 


WANDERING  FIEES  227 

you  are,"  she  admitted.  "  My  husband  says  it's 
the  redeeming  grace  of  the  place.  But  I  tell  him 
he  is  every  bit  as  bad  as  I  am,  frousting  in  the 
hotel  at  bridge!  ' 

11  Oh — he  plays  bridge?  " 

11  Yes.  You  are  trying  to  gather  who  he  is, 
Mr.  Thorne.  Confess  that  you  have  not  the  most 
remote  notion  of  my  name  and  can 't  find  it  in  your 
memory.  Better  give  it  up.  It's  hopeless." 

"  Unless  you  will  tell  me?  ' 

Eddie  shifted  his  seat  a  few  inches  nearer  and 
looked  at  Mrs.  Carpenter.  As  she  had  said,  he  had 
not  the  faintest  recollection  of  who  she  was,  but 
she  was  properly  dressed  and  pretty,  and  music 
always  made  him  feel  sentimental.  The  emotion 
it  gave  him  could  not  have  been  painful  because 
he  revelled  in  it;  but  without  the  least  personal 
attraction  towards  her  he  would  have  liked  to  hold 
Mrs.  Carpenter's  hand — or  any  other  girl's — the 
while  he  thought  of  past  loves  and  the  band  drew 
the  tears  into  his  eyes. 

"  Clare  Carpenter — friend  of  Mary  Trefusis. 
Now  do  you  remember?  "  said  Mrs.  Carpenter 
dryly. 

His  answer  was  even  eager.  "  How  funny!  I 
was  thinking  of  her.  That  last  piece — '  Dance  of 
the  Sylphs,'  did  you  say? — somehow  reminded 
me  of  her.  How  is  she  ?  I  hope  she  is  getting  on 
all  right.  What  an  awful  smash  that  was  of  old 
Poker's!  " 

11  I  believe  it  is  rather  better  than  they  feared, 
though.  Something  saved  out  of  the  bankruptcy 
after  all.  Lady  Alex  is  coming  back  this  spring, 
and  she  will  look  into  things.  Do  you  know  Lady 
Alex  Ratrick?  " 

* '  No — I  think  my  brother  does.  Kather  a  won- 
der, isn't  she?  " 


228  WANDERING  FIRES 

"  Marvellous.  And  so  rich.  Mary  ought  not  to 
quarrel  with  her.  If  Lady  Alex  had  been  home  I 
don 't  believe  she  would  ever  have  done  such  a  mad 
thing  as  go  on  the  cinema  stage.  Her  family  are 
as  tactless  as  if  they  were  diplomatists." 

"  They  interfered  too  much  with  her,  and  that 
put  the  lid  on,"  said  Thorne  shrewdly.  "  Have 
you  seen  her  lately?  She  doesn't  write  to  me 
very  often." 

"  I  saw  her  once  at  the  New  Year,  wearing  last 
year's  clothes  and  looking  divine  in  spite  of  it." 

"Poor  little  Molly!  " 

The  band  was  playing  a  waltz.  Eddie  would 
have  liked  Mary's  hand  in  his  now,  and  her  head 
on  his  shoulder.  The  thought  of  her  in  shabby 
clothes  touched  his  imagination  and  brought  her 
back  to  him  for  a  minute.  Like  most  people  whose 
feelings  are  finely  on  the  surface,  he  lost  touch  as 
soon  as  time  and  space  intervened.  But  this  does 
not  mean  that  he  could  not  feel  deeply  as  well  as 
quickly.  He  was  so  easily  responsive  that  he  could 
not  brush  aside  the  present  impression  to  hold  on 
to  the  past,  that  was  all,  and  the  person  nearest  to 
him  absorbed  his  attention.  Even  as  it  was,  he 
was  not  content  to  think  of  Mary — he  wanted  to 
talk  about  her  to  Mrs.  Carpenter. 

"  What  is  she  doing?  "  he  said. 

"  Falling  in  love  with  an  actor,  as  far  as  I  can 
make  out.  She  talks  of  nothing  else.  I  have  not 
seen  the  creature. ' ' 

"  Is  she  going  to  marry  him?  ' 

"  Oh,  no,  I  don't  think  so.  I  fancy  it  is  quite  a 
modern  attachment."  Clare  could  not  forget  that 
Thorne  had  admitted  a  correspondence  with  Mary. 
She  was  trying  to  probe  his  feeling. 

That  he  did  not  like  it  she  saw  at  once,  for  he 
smiled  and  frowned  in  the  old  manner.  "  That's 


WANDERING  FIEES  229 

silly,"  lie  said.  "  It  will  do  her  no  good.  Slid 
had  better  marry  him." 

"  Perhaps  she  can't.  I  believe  all  actors  are 
married  as  soon  as  they  are  born.  I  never  met 
one  that  was  a  bachelor." 

"  Not  even  at  a  week-end?  " 

"  Oh,  well,  they  must  say  something  in  self- 
defence,  mustn't  they?  " 

They  both  laughed,  and  Mrs.  Carpenter  discov- 
ered in  the  same  instant  that  they  were  no  longer 
sitting  at  a  conventional  distance  to  each  other. 
When  or  how  Thorne  had  moved  she  did  not  know, 
but  he  was  certainly  close  beside  her,  and  in  a 
few  more  minutes  would  probably  be  closer  still. 
It  was  the  fault  of  the  band,  which  had  begun 
to  play  a  sentimental  song — an  English  song, 
out  of  compliment  to  the  Americans  crowding 
the  concert  hall,  who  did  not  know  it  from  "  God 
Save  the  King,"  and  even  that  they  called 
"  America." 

"Dusk,  and  the  shadows  falling 

O'er  land  and  sea, 
Somewhere  a  voice  is  calling, 
Calling  for  me." 

"  Do  you  know  this?  "  said  Thorne  quietly.  He 
turned  and  looked  full  at  Clare  for  the  first  time, 
seeing  her  through  the  dusk  and  the  shadows  that 
were  certainly  falling. 

"  Yes,  I  know  it." 

"  It  makes  me  think  of  all  the  girls  I  ever 
loved."  His  eyes  lit  up  with  an  unholy  mirth. 

"It  is  rather  a  short  song — I  should  think 
you  hardly  had  time,"  retorted  Clare  un- 
wisely. 

"  You  mustn't  be  unkind  to  me." 

"  The  words  are  so  desperately  sentimental  that 
I  must  either  turn  cynic  or  cry." 


230  WANDERING  FIRES 

"Night,  and  the  stars  are  gleaming, 

Tender  and  true; 
Dearest,  my  heart  is  dreaming, 
Dreaming  of  you!" 

"  I  always  feel  that  I  want  someone  to  love  me 
when  I  hear  it  sung  or  played,"  said  Thome. 
"  And  that  nobody  does." 

"  If  I  stayed  another  minute  I  probably 
should,"  Mrs.  Carpenter  admitted  calmly  as  she 
rose.  "  I  am  going  back  to  the  hotel  to  weep  all 
over  my  husband's  shirt-front  as  the  most  appro- 
priate place.  Good-night,  Mr.  Thome.  Will  you 
come  and  play  bridge  with  us  one  night  f  " 

Eddie  rose  also  and  stood  looking  down  on  her — 
stood  rather  close,  his  face  less  distinct  than  his 
voice  in  the  dusk. 

"  Shall  I  come?  "  he  said. 

"  No,  don't!  "  said  Clare  Carpenter  honestly. 

The  minute  she  was  gone  Eddie  began  to  think 
not  of  her,  but  of  Mary  Trefusis.  The  young  imp, 
to  play  the  fool  with  one  of  the  company — suppos- 
ing it  were  true.  She  wanted  smacking.  ' '  If  she 
were  my  sister  I  would  do  it  too, ' '  he  said.  Then 
he  thought  of  writing  to  her,  and  telling  her  plainly 
not  to  be  a  fool ;  he  even  played  with  the  thought 
of  going  home  and  finding  out  where  she  was,  to 
walk  in  on  her  suddenly  and  take  her  to  task.  .  .  . 
"  I  wonder  what  she  would  say!  "  he  exclaimed, 
and  laughed.  ...  It  was  too  early  yet  for  much 
pigeon-shooting,  and  he  was  waiting  for  that.  But 
perhaps  he  would  go  home  in  May  and  look  her  up. 

"  I  will  put  it  across  her  for  this !  "  he  thought. 
"  She  promised  she  would  tell  me — I  wonder  if 
she  will  dare !  ' 

He  was  almost  upset  about  it — annoyed  with  the 
girl.  But  as  he  left  the  gardens  he  found  himself 
unconsciously  humming  an  old  song  that  was  cer- 


WANDERING  FIRES  231 

tainly  never  suggested  to  him  by  the  music  of  the 
band: 

"My  dear  little   Molly   Trefusis! " 


It  was  a  windy  night  in  England,  with  a  promise 
of  worse  to  come.  Mr.  Block  said  he  had  never 
known  the  barometer  so  low ;  it  had  passed  stormy 
and  gone  out  beyond.  Furthermore  it  shot  up  an 
inch  in  one  hour,  and  that  threatened  rough 
weather.  He  studied  the  barometer  as  part  of  his 
profession,  for  he  was  sending  his  company  out 
again  to  take  the  landscape  pictures  in  the  new 
film.  The  scene  lay  in  the  Home  Counties  this 
time,  and  at  first  he  had  thought  of  letting  the 
cast  go  out  by  train  day  by  day ;  but  the  time  and 
cost  proved  more  than  settling  them  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood for  a  week  or  so,  and  he  decided  on  the 
latter  alternative. 

He  did  not,  however,  take  a  house  for  them  this 
time.  The  ladies  were  berthed  in  cottages  at  one 
end  of  the  straggling  village  and  the  men  billeted 
elsewhere.  It  chanced  that  Jefferson  Bromley 
found  quarters  at  a  little  whitewashed  house 
furthest  from  those  occupied  by  the  girls,  with  all 
the  long  street  and  the  village  green  between 
them ;  but  after  settling  in  he  found  time  to  wralk 
the  half-mile  dividing  him  from  his  fellow-artists 
in  order  to  see  that  they  were  comfortable  and 
wanted  for  nothing.  Had  Mrs.  Thirlston  been  in 
charge  he  would  not  have  felt  so  responsible,  but 
there  was  a  strain  of  chivalry  in  him  that  no  years 
of  battered  experience  could  eradicate. 

Other  male  members  of  the  cast  came  along  into 
the  "  girls'  quarters  "  for  the  same  purpose,  or, 
as  they  themselves  phrased  it,  "  to  see  if  they 
could  do  anything, ' '  and  the  usual  running  in  and 


232  WANDERING  FIEES 

out  of  each,  other's  rooms  began  that  is  so  usual 
in  a  theatrical  company  on  tour.  Most  of  them 
having  been  on  the  legitimate  stage,  it  was  a  mat- 
ter of  course  that  they  should  do  so,  and  Bromley 
stopped  Cunningham  to  learn  which  of  the  cot- 
tagers had  taken  in  the  "  movies,"  since  he  had 
had  no  address  given  him  but  his  own.  Even  this 
was  an  unusual  concession  on  Mr.  Block's  part, 
most  theatrical  managers  leaving  it  very  much  to 
the  company  to  find  an  abiding-place  when  they 
reached  their  destination,  however  hungry  and 
tired,  and  late  the  hour.  But  Block  treated  his 
people  as  a  pack  of  cards,  shuffling  and  cutting  and 
dealing  them  when  and  where  he  chose,  and  he  left 
nothing  much  to  chance.  If  the  weather  held  they 
must  be  at  work  early  next  day. 

Bromley  did  not  go  straight  to  the  rooms  ap- 
portioned to  Mary  Trefusis  when  Cunningham 
grudgingly  gave  him  the  address.  A  week  or  so 
ago  he  would  not  have  hesitated,  and  even  now  he 
walked  past  the  place  to  see  whether  it  looked  all 
right ;  but  his  foot  did  not  pause,  though  his  mind 
did,  and  the  lines  in  his  face  deepened  a  little  as 
he  glanced  up  at  the  lamp-lit  window.  He  was 
not  finding  that  dalliance  was  a  primrose  path  at 
all.  Since  the  revelation  of  Mary's  acting  in  the 
new  pictures  he  had  felt  as  if  they  were  walking 
blindfold  through  a  country  of  quicksands,  and 
any  moment  the  solid  ground  might  quiver  and 
give  way  beneath  their  feet.  Their  only  safe- 
guard was  that  Mary  appeared  unconscious  of 
what  she  had  revealed  to  others.  She  was  like  a 
person  walking  in  her  sleep,  and  he  prayed  that 
she  might  not  wake. 

The  lighted  window  was  suddenly  darkened,  the 
blind  drawn  aside,  and  someone  looked  out  as  his 
tall  and  unmistakable  figure  went  by  in  the  dusk. 


WANDERING  FIRES  233 

But  Jeff  was  conscientiously  looking  ahead,  and 
did  not  see  the  one  of  whom  he  thought,  any  more 
than  he  heard  her  come  down  the  little  worm-eaten 
stairs  and  slip  out  at  the  side  door. 

Robin  Ward  and  Nell  Grey  had  bedrooms  under 
the  same  roof,  and  shared  the  cottage  parlour. 
When  Bromley  stooped  his  head  to  enter,  Robin 
was  already  making  acquaintance  with  the  horse- 
hair sofa,  and  having  tea  and  boiled  eggs  with 
Arnold  Grey;  but  Nell  was  not  to  be  seen. 

"  Come  and  have  some  tea,  Mr.  Bromley !  "  said 
the  girl  hospitably.  "  It's  only  hedgerow — but 
it's  the  best  hedgerow.  Arny  says  he  brought  his 
own  tea  with  him,  but  he  hasn't  brought  it  here, 
the  beast!  " 

I  i  Where 's  Nell  ?  ' '  asked  Bromley,  sitting  down 
on  the  broad  roll  of  the  sofa-end  and  looking  down 
kindly  on  Robin's  bobbed  head.    "  Are  you  pretty 
comfortable  ?    I  'm  afraid  the  quarters  are  rough. ' ' 
What  he  longed  to  ask  was  how  Mary  Trefusis 
was  getting  on,  and  whether  anybody  had  been 
round  to  her  rooms  to  see;  but  he  was  trying  to 
find  out  by  inference. 

II  Nell's  upstairs,  fighting  the  windows.     We 
can't  get  them  open.    Arny,  do  go  up  and  smash 
them  for  us  if  necessary!  " 

"  All  right — I'll  go  presently,"  said  Nell's 
obliging  brother,  with  his  mouth  full  of  bread- 
and-jam.  "  Nell's  all  right — if  she  can't  manage 
she'll  come  down.  You're  tired,  Robin — let  me 
take  off  your  shoes  for  you." 

"  Hasn't  Nell  had  any  tea?  "  asked  Bromley,  as 
Grey  bent  forward  to  unlace  the  shoes  on  Robin's 
small  feet.  They  did  not  answer  him,  and  with  a 
somewhat  quizzical  glance  he  wont  himself  to  the 
rescue,  up  the  narrow  stairs  of  the  cottage  to  the 
rooms  with  the  sloping  roof  that  the  girls  occupied. 


234  WANDERING  FIEES 

In  answer  to  his  knock  Nell  called  out  "  Come 
in!  "  on  a  sharper  note  than  usual;  and  when  he 
entered  she  turned  a  flushed,  exasperated  face  to 
him  from  the  window,  where  she  knelt  on  the  wide 
ledge. 

1 1  Oh,  Jeff !  do  come  and  help  me — this  casement 
really  does  open,  but  it  has  stuck  from  ages  of 
disuse." 

Bromley  crossed  the  little  room  and  took  the 
matter  into  stronger  hands  than  Nell's.  One  vig- 
orous thrust  with  his  arm  forced  the  unwilling 
hinges  to  act  again,  and  the  casement  creaked 
into  use,  letting  in  a  rush  of  the  sweet  March  air, 
already  faintly  reminiscent  of  daffodils  and  early 
wallflower  from  the  gardens  below.  The  draught 
ran  through  the  stuffy  room,  cleansing  the  air,  and 
for  a  minute  the  man  and  girl  remained  at  the 
window  in  silence,  looking  out  into  the  spring  twi- 
light. Despite  the  rough  weather,  it  seemed  to 
Bromley  a  curiously  peaceful  world  out  here  in 
the  country,  as  if  he  had  left  trouble  and  the 
chance  of  disaster  in  London;  and  the  quiescence 
of  Nell's  attitude  was  unconsciously  soothing, 
though  he  was  not  thinking  of  her.  She  spoke 
most  when  she  was  most  silent.  The  dark  eyes 
in  the  small  face  were  not  even  wistful,  they  were 
so  utterly  resigned. 

Then  it  seemed  to  them  both  that  the  peace  of 
the  moment  was  swept  away  by  the  sense  of  vital- 
ity near  them,  and  there  in  the  doorway  was  Mary 
Trefusis.  They  had  not  heard  her  come  up,  and 
did  not  know  how  long  she  had  been  there;  but 
her  white  face  worked  oddly  so  that  it  looked  al- 
most distorted  in  the  dusk,  and  her  eyes  were 
aflame.  Bromley  dropped  his  hand  from  the  case- 
ment where  it  had  rested  above  Nell's  head,  and 
his  stretched  arm  fell  back  to  his  side.  He  could 


WANDERING  FIRES  235 

not  speak  at  all,  at  once — not  from  the  most  re- 
mote embarrassment,  but  from  Mary 's  mere  pres- 
ence suddenly  thrust  upon  him. 

11  I  came  in — I  came  up — to  find  Nell — to  see 
where  everyone  was,"  she  said  in  a  choked  voice. 
"I'm  sorry — Robin  didn't  hear  me — she  was  talk- 
ing to  Arnold  downstairs.  ..." 

"  Jeff  was  opening  the  windows  for  us,"  said 
Nell  collectedly.  "  They  had  stuck.  Have  you 
had  any  tea,  Mary?  ' 

"  Oh,  ages  ago!  Besides,  I  don't  want  any.  I 
only  came  round — to  see  you."  Her  face  said: 
"  And  now  I  have  seen,  I'll  go." 

11  Come  down  and  talk  to  Robin  and  Arnold. 
They  have  been  playing  the  fool  long  enough," 
said  Nell,  leading  the  way  out  of  the  room — her 
bedroom,  as  Mary  suddenly  remembered.  Such 
a  thing  had  never  occurred  to  her  before.  Now  it 
was  an  instant  outrage,  a  situation  she  hastily 
condemned,  and  then  despised  herself  for  con- 
demning. 

"  No,  thanks — I'll  go  back — to  unpack." 

11  I'll  see  you  home,  Mary,"  said  Bromley  me- 
chanically. 

"  No,  you  won't,"  said  the  girl  curtly,  and 
brushing  past  him  she  ran  downstairs  in  front  of 
Nell  and  out  of  the  cottage.  When  they  reached 
the  door  she  was  gone,  and  though  Bromley  fol- 
lowed her  homewards  he  never  caught  sight  of 
her  again.  She  had  given  no  explanation  of  her 
abrupt  entrance  and  departure,  save  the  obvious 
one  of  her  crude  jealousy,  which  was  so  blatant 
that  neither  Nell  nor  Jeff  had  looked  at  each 
other.  If  they  had  even  said,  "It  is  absurd!  " 
they  must  have  put  the  thought  into  words  that 
did  not  bear  thinking,  and  Bromley's  heart  was 
in  his  throat  with  a  new  emotion  that  he  tried  to 


236  WANDERING  FIRES 

stifle.  Nell  was  the  sacrifice;  he  was  very  sorry 
and  troubled  for  Nell,  but  she  was  blotted  out  for 
him  by  the  fact  that  Mary  had  looked  at  him 
with  the  eyes  of  elementary  womanhood.  She 
had  resented  his  being  alone  with  Nell,  in  the  little 
cottage  bedroom,  sanctioned  though  it  was  by  care- 
less custom  and  the  license  in  the  company.  She 
had  passionately  questioned  the  meaning  of  the 
situation.  Her  heart  seemed  to  have  awakened 
in  the  one  fierce  moment  when  she  had  challenged 
him  with  her  eyes — and  he  dared  not  think  what 
came  next.  .  .  . 

The  evening  that  had  been  so  exquisite  in  Monte 
Carlo  a  few  hours  since  was  pregnant  with  storm 
in  England. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THE  day  broke  threateningly,  with  a  rising 
wind.  By  eight  o'clock  the  air  seemed  full 
of  refuse,  torn  from  the  highways  and 
hedges  and  flung  into  the  air  and  whirled  round 
as  a  wanton  child  scatters  something  with  which 
it  is  tired  of  playing.  It  was  almost  impossible 
to  tell  from  which  direction  the  wind  blew,  for  it 
broke  in  eddies  and  made  back-shafts  for  itself  of 
any  obstacle;  but  its  main  force  was  from  the 
north-west.  There  would  be  no  possibility  of  tak- 
ing outdoor  scenes  to-day,  and  Mary  was  thankful. 
She  wanted  the  holiday — to  get  away  by  herself, 
and  face  the  turmoil  in  her  mind.  If  she  had  had 
to  endure  the  close  association  of  the  cinema  cast 
— Ellen  and  her  brother,  Jeff  Bromley,  the  others 
with  their  curious  eyes — she  felt  that  the  strain 
would  have  worn  her  to  the  breaking-point. 

She  ate  her  breakfast  hastily,  and  dressed  her- 
self in  a  rough  outdoor  coat,  for  it  was  piercingly 
cold  in  the  wind,  drawing  her  woolly  cap  down 
over  her  bright  hair  and  ears.  The  face  that 
looked  at  her  from  the  glass  was  paler  even  than 
its  wont,  faintly  marked  round  the  soft  red  mouth 
with  the  deeper  feeling  of  new  experience,  and 
the  eyes  were  like  a  thunderstorm.  She  missed 
the  unclouded  freshness  of  her  beauty,  and  turned 
away  dissatisfied.  "  I  am  almost  ugly,"  she 
thought,  and  the  stab  of  jealousy  made  her  muscles 
actually  contract  when  she  thought  of  Nell's  con- 
trol over  her  quiet,  dark  face. 

237 


238  WANDERING  FIRES 

A  great  branch  broke  from  an  elm  tree  across 
the  road  and  was  blown  to  her  feet  as  she  went 
out  into  the  tremendous  morning.  The  wind  had 
got  imprisoned  in  the  trees,  and  was  fighting  like 
a  mad  thing  to  get  out,  threshing  the  branches 
and  snapping  those  that  were  brittle.  Mary  flung 
herself  in  the  melee,  with  a  fierce  satisfaction  in 
the  cold  flurry,  and  battled  down  the  road,  jump- 
ing a  stile  with  a  whirl  of  her  close-reefed  skirts 
and  heading  into  the  wind  across  the  open 
meadows,  with  her  head  held  down.  She  walked 
furiously,  the  blood  quickening  in  her  veins  mak- 
ing the  life  in  her  almost  intolerable,  and  her  mind 
tossed  fragments  of  her  trouble  to  and  fro,  even 
as  the  wind  tossed  fragments  of  the  trees. 

What  right  had  Nell  Grey  to  care  for  him?  .  .  . 
She  did  care  for  him,  that  was  certain.  She  must 
have  been  learning  to  care  long  before  Mary  her- 
self saw  him  at  Restawhile,  or  joined  the  company. 
It  seemed  to  lend  Nell  a  sort  of  priority  of  right 
.  .  .  unbearable.  Mary's  newly-stirred  heart  most 
passionately  questioned  any  right  but  her  own. 
The  egoist  in  her  pleaded  her  own  vitality,  the 
strength  of  thwarted  instincts,  the  goad  of  her  un- 
broken will.  .  .  .  Nell  could  not  give  him  half  that 
she  could,  even  to  the  bearing  of  pain.  She  was 
sure  of  it  in  her  splendid  rage,  and  flung  herself 
against  the  wind  as  if  to  prove  the  force  of  her 
temper.  .  .  .  When  Bromley  had  told  her  of  his 
marriage  she  had  felt  a  sense  of  exultation  because 
of  the  confidence  between  them,  and  realised 
nothing  more.  Now  it  was  a  barrier,  something 
that  she  wanted  to  sweep  aside  ruthlessly  before 
Nell  Grey  or  any  other  woman  could  precede  her. 
.  .  .  She  did  not  resent  that  early  love  as  she  did 
a  present  suspected  rivalry,  it  seemed  so  out- 
worn, so  far  in  the  past.  And  he  had  told  her 


WANDERING  FIRES  239 

that  he  no  longer  cared.  .  .  .  Why  had  he  told 
her?  Why  had  he  confided  in  her  at  all?  Her 
mind  went  back  to  the  moment  in  the  enveloping 
fog,  and  to  her  small  glow  of  flattery  that  he  was 
taking  their  friendship  so  seriously  and  treating 
her  like  an  older  woman.  She  had  been  so  taken 
up  with  her  own  attitude  that  she  had  no  time  to 
spare  for  his.  The  egoist  in  her  again.  .  .  .  But 
why  had  he  told  her?  Was  it  that  he  felt  the 
necessity  for  some  guard  over  himself,  even  then? 
Did  he  think  to  make  it  safer  for  the  steady  flame 
of  their  mutual  self-esteem  that  she  should  know 
him  outside  the  pale  of  any  licensed  feeling  be- 
tween them?  The  flame  had  burned  steadily  then. 
Wild  gusts  seemed  shaking  it  now,  as  the  wind 
tore  along  the  meadows  and  shook  her  even  on  the 
sure  balance  of  her  light  young  feet.  .  .  .  Why 
had  he  told  her?  .  .  . 

Her  heart  began  to  settle  down  to  heavy  throb- 
bing. Some  look  in  his  troubled  eyes  of  late  re- 
curred to  her  to  raise  her  fallen  spirits  to  the 
giddiness  of  intoxication.  She  walked  faster  and 
faster,  the  wind  making  her  stagger  at  each  more 
open  space  of  country,  and  her  face,  lately  so  pale, 
whipped  to  a  clear  red  like  the  glow  of  ripe  fruit. 
The  wind  without  and  her  stirred  blood  within 
flushed  her  like  a  fever.  She  clung  to  every  tell- 
tale sign  that  he  also  had  to  face  this  thing,  this 
uncalculated  force,  as  some  alleviation  for  her  own 
discomfort.  Youth  is  intolerant  of  pain,  and  quite 
rightly,  for  pain  ought  to  be  intolerable.  Mary 
knew  that  her  just  heritage  was  happiness,  and 
here  was  this  old,  outworn  marriage-tie  across  her 
throat  to  strangle  her  very  joy  of  life. 

She  stood  still  for  a  moment  to  realise  the  thing 
that  had  happened  to  hor.  Somehow  she  had 
fallen  in  love,  and  the  man  she  had  chosen  loved 


240  WANDERING  FIRES 

her.  Up  there  in  the  windy  tree-tops  the  rooks 
were  cawing,  knocked  about  their  nests  by  the 
boisterous  element,  flapping  great  black  wings  in 
trepidation  round  their  half-built  houses.  The 
white  clouds  sailed  in  fluffy  puffs  across  a  blue 
sky,  and  the  rough  keen  air  threatened  the  breath 
of  every  living  thing.  It  had  suddenly  become  a 
jolly  morning,  full  of  wild  possibility  and  glorious 
life.  The  girl  lifted  her  pretty  wind-stung  face 
and  laughed.  She  could  have  clapped  her  hands 
and  cried  ' l  Bravo !  "  to  the  wind  when  he  drove 
a  great  piece  of  board  across  a  field,  turning  it 
over  and  over  as  a  child  bowls  a  hoop.  It  had 
probably  been  blown  down  from  a  neighbouring 
farm,  and  she  now  saw  that  she  must  have  strug- 
gled along  for  four  or  five  miles,  and  would  have 
to  ask  her  way  back,  so  heedless  had  been  her 
roaming.  But  she  did  not  care.  Even  Nell  Grey's 
betrayed  feeling  for  Bromley  took  a  secondary 
place  to  the  maddening  delight  of  realising  that 
she  herself  loved  him,  and  that  he  loved  her. 

She  made  her  way  to  the  farm  and  asked  for 
a  glass  of  milk,  laughing  as  she  was  almost  blown 
into  the  doorway.  A  big,  slatternly  woman  drew 
her  in,  staring  at  her  delicious  cheeks  and  rough- 
ened hair  under  the  white  cap.  She  made  Mary 
sit  down  in  the  untidy  kitchen,  and  brought  her 
the  milk  in  a  cracked  cup,  standing  with  hands 
on  hips  to  watch  her  drink  it. 

"It's  a  wild  morning,  and  hev  given  you  a 
colour,  miss!  "  she  said  good-humouredly.  "  Not 
safe  to  be  out,  hardly.  And  you  come  from  the 
village?  You'll  hev  to  walk  a  matter  of  six  miles 
to  get  back  by  the  road. ' ' 

"  I  don't  mind — I  like  it,"  said  Mary,  her  red 
mouth  creamy  with  the  new  milk.  * '  And  I  'm  not 
a  bit  tired!  " 


WANDERING  FIRES  241 

But  when  she  had  paid  for  the  milk  and  started 
out  again,  back  of  the  farm  by  the  cart-track  the 
woman  showed  her,  she  began  to  feel  the  healthy 
tiredness  of  her  walk  and  the  result  of  her  restless 
night.  She  was  happy  and  sleepy,  now  that  the 
jealous  shadow  was  lifted  from  her  mind,  and  the 
wind  who  had  been  a  playfellow  now  buffeted  her 
as  an  adversary,  determined  that  she  should  not 
go  back  to  the  village,  holding  her  from  the  place 
where  her  heart  raced  before  her.  On  the  other 
side  of  the  rough  road  was  a  group  of  outbuild- 
ings, a  barn,  and  some  cowsheds.  Mary  looked 
longingly  at  them,  and  then  turning  aside  from 
further  effort,  she  pushed  her  way  into  the  sweet- 
smelling  barn,  past  some  farm  implements  to  a 
great  heap  of  hay  in  the  dusky  corner.  She  was 
out  of  the  wind,  and  happy,  and  very  weary.  Shq 
snuggled  down  into  the  hay  for  ten  minutes '  rest, 
and  in  three  she  was  fast  asleep. 

"\Yhen  she  woke  the  face  of  the  day  was  changed 
so  that  she  wondered  where  she  was.  The  wind 
had  fallen  a  little,  and  snow  was  beginning  to  fall 
also,  in  large  driven  flakes  that  melted  as  they  fell. 
The  treacherous  sun  was  gone,  and  the  sky  waS 
full  of  hurrying  grey  cloud.  Yesterday  it  had 
seemed  almost  like  spring  when  they  arrived  in 
the  Midland  village,  and  to-day  it  had  gone  back 
to  winter  with  the  suddenness  of  March  weather. 
She  looked  at  her  little  wrist- watch  and  found  that 
she  had  slept  for  some  hours — it  was  nearly  four 
o'clock.  But  she  was  at  least  warm  and  rested, 
though  very  hungry.  Ashamed  to  go  back  to  the 
farm  and  confess  what  she  had  done,  she  crept 
out  of  her  shelter  and,  striking  into  the  highroad, 
began  her  steady  walk  homewards. 

Jefferson  Bromley  had  also  profited  by  the  holi- 
day, though  with  less  energy  than  Mary.  He  was 


242  WANDERING  FIEES 

billeted  comfortably  in  his  little  whitewashed 
house,  which  had  the  advantage  of  roomy  out- 
houses. Here  Jeff  played  with  his  camera,  under 
tuition  of  the  operator,  and  then  carpentered,  and 
made  some  rough  sketches  in  charcoal  which  al- 
ways resolved  themselves  into  a  woman's  head 
that  had  had  a  habit  of  late  of  recurring  on  his 
drawing-blocks,  growing  more  lovely  and  charac- 
teristic with  increasing  knowledge  of  each  precious 
detail.  A  girl 's  head  turned  so  that  one  saw  only 
the  coil  of  thick  fair  hair  and  one  flat  ear  and  a 
curve  of  cheek — a  line  of  profile,  as  delicate  as  the 
cutting  of  an  old  Greek  cameo — two  wide,  empty 
eyes  and  a  lifted  upper  lip  which  seemed  to  be  the 
most  ravishing  feature  of  the  small  face,  until  one 
noticed  the  fine  nostrils  and  the  one  dimple  in  the 
cheek.  It  was  this  last  sketch  that  had  grown 
under  his  hand  to-day  while  the  rude  March  wind 
made  the  outside  world  a  less  desirable  place  than 
usual.  Why  not  I  He  could  not  play  golf  in  such 
a  gale;  cycling  was  out  of  the  question;  he  had 
walked  savagely  in  a  direction  opposite  to  the 
"  girls'  quarters,"  and  refrained  from  dropping 
in  to  ask  if  anyone  wranted  anything,  as  the  men 
of  the  Block  crowd  had  a  happy  way  of  doing 
for  the  women.  Secure  in  his  own  control,  he 
might  at  least  indulge  himself  in  drawing  the 
haunting  face  that  wTould  never  belong  to  him, 
could  never  belong,  save  as  a  yearning  memory 
of  a  mirage  of  happiness.  Wife  and  children! 
Mary  Trefusis  as  a  wife,  with  a  child  in  her  arms. 
.  .  .  He  stopped  there.  Some  things  did  not  bear 
thinking  of  if  a  man  were  to  keep  a  steady  face  to 
the  world.  When  it  came  to  four  o'clock,  and  the 
day  began  to  darken  with  snow,  Jeff  flung  aside 
his  toys  of  the  workshop  and  went  back  to  the  cot- 
tage to  have  his  tea.  He  would  have  gone  out 


WANDERING  FIEES  243 

again  for  another  walk  in  his  restlessness — a  rest- 
lessness that  was  growing  as  intolerable  as  Mary's 
— but  for  the  cutting  wind  that  was  so  full  of  sleet. 
He  lit  a  pipe,  and  sat  over  the  fire,  indulging  him- 
self in  day-dreams  as  he  very  seldom  did.  It  was 
a  snare  of  the  devil,  but  for  once  the  desire  must 
have  its  way  with  him. 

The  strange  March  twilight  was  darkening  at 
the  windows  when  he  heard  someone  fumbling  at 
the  cottage  door.  There  was  nothing  to  prevent  a 
stranger  walking  in,  for  it  was  unlocked,  and 
knowing  that  his  landlady  was  busy  in  the  wash- 
house  outside  he  walked  along  the  narrow  pas- 
sage and,  opening  the  door,  confronted  the  in- 
truder. There  was  a  girl  standing  outside,  with 
the  snow  on  her  cap  and  shoulders,  and  a  heavy 
coat  that  was  soaked  with  the  melting  flakes.  They 
peered  at  each  other  through  the  clear  dusk  which 
was  like  the  light  of  a  dream,  and  then  his  hands 
went  out  instinctively  to  draw  her  in.  Until  he 
touched  her  wet  shoulders  he  hardly  realised  that 
she  was  real ;  she  had  been  so  much  in  his  thoughts 
that  it  seemed  as  if  he  had  visualised  her  out  of 
the  twilight. 

"  Jeff!  "  she  said,  with  a  gasp  that  was  half 
laughter  and  half  exhaustion.  "  I've  had  such  an 
awful  walk — I've  been  out  all  day — I  simply 
couldn't  go  any  further!  Can  I  come  in  and 
rest?  " 

He  did  not  answer,  save  by  putting  his  arm 
round  her  shoulders  and  almost  pushing  her  down 
the  passage.  He  felt  as  if  he  must  clutch  at  her 
to  keep  her,  and  that  she  might  melt  away  from 
him  at  any  moment  as  the  snow  was  melting  from 
her  wet  coat.  There  was  no  light  in  the  little  sit- 
ting-room but  the  fire,  which  he  had  banked  up  to 
a  great  glow  because  he  liked  it  better  than  a  lamp. 


244  WANDERING  FIEES 

He  began  unfastening  her  coat  for  her  with  hands 
that  were  not  quite  steady,  and  drew  off  the  soaked 
woollen  cap  from  her  bright  hair,  while  she  stood 
docilely  before  him  like  a  child  being  undressed 
by  its  nurse.  He  had  not  spoken  even  when  he 
wheeled  the  hard  little  sofa  over  to  the  fire,  and, 
wrapping  her  bodily  in  his  travelling-rug,  lifted 
her  suddenly  and  laid  her  down  on  it. 

"  Let  me  take  off  your  shoes,"  he  said,  in  a 
curious  low  voice  as  if  someone  were  listening. 
11  They  must  be  soaking.  You  will  catch  cold  if 
I  don't.  .  .  ." 

"  I  don't  think  they  are  wet.  ..."  But  she 
let  him  unlace  and  draw  them  off  while  she  nestled 
comfortably  into  the  heavy  rug.  "  I'm  so  hungry 
and  thirsty.  I  had  no  lunch — nothing  but  a  glass 
of  milk  at  a  farm.  And  then  I  went  to  sleep  in  a 
barn  on  some  hay — and  it  was  hours  later  when  I 
woke,  and  the  snow  was  falling,  and  I  had  to  walk 
in  against  the  storm,  miles !  ' 

He  uttered  a  sound  of  distress.  "  Whatever 
made  you  do  it  I  > 

"  I  went  for  a  walk,  earlier  in  the  day.  It  was 
rather  fun  to  fight  the  wind.  How  comfortable 
this  is!  " 

He  was  kneeling  at  her  feet,  rubbing  them 
gently,  but  the  slush  of  the  wet  roads  had  gradu- 
ally penetrated  even  through  her  stout  little  shoes, 
and  he  could  not  get  her  feet  dry  in  that  way. 

"  Take  off  your  stockings  and  I  will  dry  them  in 
the  fender,"  he  said.  "  I  won't  look  ..." 

She  laughed  a  little  tremulously,  sat  up,  and 
drew  off  her  stockings,  wrapping  her  feet  in  the 
rug.  Bromley  walked  into  his  bedroom  and 
brought  back  a  rough  towel.  "  You  will  have 
to  let  me  rub  them  dry  and  warm  again,"  he  said 
gently.  "  Come,  don't  be  silly — why  shouldn't  I? 


WANDERING  FIRES  2-15 

I  will  make  you  some  fresh  tea  in  a  minute." 
* '  Let  me  rub  them,  while  you  make  the  tea. ' ' 
"  No,  I  want  to  .  .  ."    He  bit  back  the  words, 
and  kneeling  down  again  rubbed  the  warmth  and 
circulation  back  into  the  small  chilled  feet.  *  *  What 
induced  you  to  go  off  by  yourself  on  such  a  day?  " 
"  I  was  restless." 
"  Were  you?    So  was  I!  " 
She  did  not  answer.     She  was  lying  back  in 
the  folds  of  the  rug,  her  small  tired  face  framed 
in  it  and  her  eyes  half  closed.     He  rose  rather 
suddenly  and,  carefully  wrapping  up  her  feet, 
began  to  move  deftly  about  the  room  in  spite  of 
his  size  and  its  narrow  dimensions,  making  fresh 
tea.    Neither  of  them  spoke  to  the  other  until  he 
was  feeding  her  like  a  baby,  with  hot  buttered 
toast  and  tea  and  a  comfortable  dough  cake. 

"  I  hope  you  didn't  mind  my  rushing  in  like 
that,"  she  said,  her  eyes  still  sleepy  with  the 
warmth.  "  I  kept  on  thinking  that  I  was  getting 
nearer  to  you  to  buoy  myself  up.  I  knew  you  were 
in  the  first  cottage  I  should  come  to." 

I  i  Wouldn  't  you  have  come  to  me  the  same,  even 
if  I  hadn't  been  the  first?  " 

"  Yes." 

She  did  not  look  at  him,  and  found  nothing  more 
to  say  than  that  one  word. 

"  You  knew  I  should  take  care  of  you,  Mary." 
The  promise  was  as  much  to  himself  as  to  her. 
He  said  it  in  his  desperate  need. 

"  You  always  take  care  of  me.  It  was  so  funny 
— I  nearly  lost  the  way  where  the  road  forks,  and 
then  I  saw  the  firelight  in  your  window  going  up 
and  down.  It  reminded  me  of  the  wandering  fires 
we  followed  on  the  Moor — do  you  remember?  " 

II  Yes,"  he  said  slowly.    "  They  took  us  astray 
first — and  then  led  us  home." 


246  WANDERING  FIRES 

"  Your  light  didn't  lead  me  astray." 

He  looked  at  her  quickly,  almost  with  fear  in 
his  face.  "  We  don't  want  to  follow  wandering 
fires,  you  and  I !  "he  said  hoarsely. 

She  remembered  again  how  Thorne  had  said 
that  she  might  do  so,  but  that  she  would  return  to 
him.  It  seemed  an  idle  prophecy,  made  very  long 
ago.  Besides,  poor  Eddie  had  followed  a  wander- 
ing fire  of  his  own,  and  found  it  a  devil's  lantern 
indeed.  But  his  example  did  not  turn  her  one  whit 
from  pursuing  her  own. 

"  It  did  lead  me  home — to  you !  "  she  said  reck- 
lessly, and  opened  her  eye,s  at  last  to  look  up  at 
him.  They  were  no  longer  empty  of  expression, 
they  were  full  of  a  trouble  that  had  faintly  flick- 
ered across  them  when  Thorne  kissed  her  long 
since. 

Bromley  had  put  the  food  baek  on  the  table  and 
pushed  it  on  one  side.  He  dropped  suddenly  into 
the  shabby  armchair  by  the  sofa  and  took  the 
girl's  hands  in  his. 

"  Mary,  you  oughtn't  to  have  come  here,"  he 
said  below  his  breath.  He  was  looking  at  her  with 
all  his  heart  in  his  eyes,  and  they  were  very  blue 
even  in  the  firelight.  With  any  other  man  she 
would  have  taken  refuge  in  retort,  "  Don't  you 
want  me?  "  or  "  Am  I  in  the  way?  "  but  with  Jeff 
she  had  to  meet  truth  with  truth.  He  was  too 
much  in  earnest  for  her  to  save  herself  at  his 
expense. 

"  I  know  I  ought  not,"  she  said,  almost  sud- 
denly. 

"  You  remember  what  I  told  you  in  the  fog — 
about  my  marriage?  ' 

"  Yes."  Meeting  those  impelling  eyes  she 
wished  vainly  that  she  could  say  she  had  for- 
gotten. "  I  know  you  are  not  free." 


WANDERING  FIRES  247 

' '  God  help  me !  "  said  Bromley  suddenly,  and 
quite  simply,  dropping  her  hands  and  walking  to 
the  darkening  window.  He  stood  there  a  moment 
in  dead  silence,  the  outline  of  his  broad  shoulders 
and  well-set  head  against  the  increasing  night; 
and  the  girl  hid  her  face  in  her  hands  and  did  not 
dare  to  think  what  he  was  fighting,  her  will  or  his 
own  temptation.  She  knew  that  she  was  in  the 
wrong  from  his  point  of  view,  and  the  constant 
association  with  him  for  the  past  months  had  re- 
flected his  standards  on  her  own  mind,  though  her 
earlier  traditions  still  lay  at  the  root  of  her  nature, 
the  selfish  will  of  a  spoilt  child.  What  did  it  mat- 
ter to  her  that  he  was  doing  his  best  to  love  her 
unselfishly,  to  do  the  decent  thing  and  be  stronger 
than  his  own  manhood,  when  her  headlong  passion 
was  bent  on  over-ruling  his  self-control!  Honour 
and  chivalry  are  fine  words,  but  they  are  poor  al- 
ternatives for  a  man's  arms  to  the  woman  whose 
body  is  yearning  to  feel  them  round  her. 

A  coal  dropped  into  the  fender,  jarring  the 
silence,  and  a  flame  leaped  up  and  showed  the 
man's  tense  attitude  and  the  girl's  relaxed  figure, 
characteristic  of  them  both.  The  old-fashioned 
clock  on  the  mantelpiece  struck  two  with  a  reckless 
disregard  of  the  fact  that  its  face  registered  a 
quarter  to  four.  Both  hours  were  hopelessly 
wrong,  but  Time  himself  seemed  to  have  paused 
for  those  two  in  the  little  cottage  sitting-room. 

"  Jeff,  come  here!  " 

Mary's  endurance  had  given  way,  and  her 
nerves  were  unstrung  with  her  physical  weariness 
and  an  unusual  emotion.  The  tacit  denial  of 
Bromley's  flat  back  and  shoulders  was  filling  her 
with  growing  dismay,  and  she  felt  that  if  he  kept 
his  head  turned  away  very  much  longer  she  must 
cry  or  laugh  or  shriek.  He  came  slowly  at  the 


248  WANDERING  FIEES 

sound  of  her  voice,  and  she  saw  that  his  face  was 
contracted  and  his  hands  clenched ;  but  she  had  no 
pity  and  no  scruples.  If  he  did  not  give  way  now 
his  will  might  prove  unbreakable,  and  her  jeal- 
ousy of  the  morning  returned  to  madden  her 
against  any  other  woman  in  his  life.  She  would 
take  by  violence  or  fraud  what  she  could  not  get 
by  honest  means,  and  no  robber  was  ever  more 
guilty  than  this  soft-f aced  girl  looking  as  innocent 
as  a  child  on  the  hard  little  sofa. 

"  I'm  so  tired!  "  she  said,  with  a  catch  in  her 
breath. 

He  knelt  down  at  last  and  took  her  in  his  arms, 
drawing  the  soft  head  against  his  shoulder.  Ah, 
dear,  wilful  Mary  Trefusis!  All  her  life  some- 
body was  taking  care  of  her  because  she  would 
not  take  care  of  herself,  covering  her  faults  with 
kisses  and  paying  the  devil  for  her  with  the  price 
of  her  follies.  The  line  of  pain  in  her  smooth 
brows  relaxed,  and  the  short  upper  lip  lifted  in  a 
little  confident  smile  as  she  snuggled  her  face 
closer.  The  man  who  had  not  kissed  her  then 
must  choose  between  calling  himself  a  hero  or 
a  fool.  Jeff  Bromley  chose  to  call  himself  a  fool — 
and  rejected  the  folly. 

He  did  not  know  how  long  he  knelt  there  in  the 
firelight.  The  close,  strenuous  embrace  had  ended 
in  broken  whispers  and  then  a  silence  while  he 
clutched  after  his  happiness  and  tried  not  to  think. 
The  weight  of  Mary's  supple  body  lay  against  his 
breast  without  movement,  almost  without  re- 
sponse, and  looking  down  at  her  he  saw  that  her 
eyes  had  closed  and  she  was  breathing  evenly. 
Once  the  strain  of  uncertainty  was  lifted  from 
her  the  very  natural  result  was  that  she  fell 
asleep,  as  she  had  in  the  barn,  worn  out  with  her 
long  walk  and  the  struggle  against  the  physical 


WANDERING  FIEES  249 

and  mental  storm.  The  utter  trust  of  such  a  hap- 
pening made  him  feel  as  if  he  had  a  child  in  his 
arms.  He  brushed  the  hair  away  from  her  fore- 
head with  lips  that  were  too  tender  for  passion. 
And  when  he  laid  her  gently  back  on  the  sofa  and 
went  to  find  some  means  of  getting  her  home,  she 
still  slept  on  as  if  his  protection  surrounded  her 
and  scared  away  all  evil  thoughts. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

IT  was  in  April  that  Edward  Staines  Thome, 
late  Captain  of  Yeomanry,  was  granted  a  de- 
cree nisi  against  his  wife,  Petrova  Ivanovna. 
The  release  came  far  more  speedily  than  Thome 
had  any  right  to  hope,  and  was  probably  unex- 
pected by  him,  as  he  was  still  abroad  at  Monte 
Carlo — as  Mrs.  Carpenter  had  written  to  Mary 
earlier  in  the  year.  Mary  read  the  brief  announce- 
ment of  the  divorce  in  the  papers,  and  her  eyes 
brimmed  over  again  for  Eddie.  It  did  not  seem  to 
touch  her  destiny  any  more  in  the  absorbing  in- 
terest of  her  love-affair  with  Jefferson  Bromley; 
but  she  could  no  more  forget  Eddie  Thorne  than 
any  other  woman  in  his  life,  and  she  was  gen- 
uinely sorry  for  him. 

She  had  not  even  the  relief  of  talking  of  the 
Russian  dancer  and  her  husband  to  Alicia  Thirl- 
ston,  because  the  company  having  stayed  in  rooms 
this  time  in  the  Midlands,  Block  had  not  engaged 
a  housekeeper  to  look  after  them.  Alicia  was  back 
in  London,  living  her  unrecorded  life  under  the 
roof  with  the  sparrows,  and  waiting  for  her  next 
uncongenial  job.  She  would  have  been  a  safety- 
valve  to  Mary,  who  did  not  find  Jeff  the  ready  sym- 
pathetic listener  she  demanded  on  the  subject  of 
Thome.  It  still  irked  him  that  she  had  never 
paid  back  the  forty  pounds  which  Thorne  had  fore- 
stalled him  in  lending  her,  and  that  he  could  not 
persuade  her  either  to  save  her  salary  to  that  end 
or  to  accept  a  fresh  loan  from  himself  and  return 

250 


WANDERING  FIRES  251 

Tborne  the  money.  Mary  only  laughed,  her  one 
dimple  in  full  play  and  her  eyes  full  of  impish 
mischief. 

"  I  simply  can't  save,  Jeffy!  I've  darned  and 
patched  every  mortal  clothe  I  have  as  it  is,  and  I 
never  spend  a  cent  that  I  oughtn't.  Eddie 
wouldn't  want  me  to  starve — he'd  be  awfully  ratty 
if  he  thought  I  was  going  without  anything  to 
send  him  a  few  pounds  at  the  end  of  a  few  weeks. 
He's  not  like  that.  Probably  he's  never  thought 
of  it  again." 

11  Yes,  but  I  have,  Mary.  And  you  mustn't 
borrow  from  any  other  man  except  me — now !  ' 

His  eyes  filled  in  the  hiatus,  and  his  hand  joined 
hers  in  the  great  white  muff  that  had  appeared 
in  so  many  pictures  already.  They  were  taking 
one  of  their  long  tramps  across  the  country  when 
the  subject  of  Thome  came  up  between  them, 
almost  the  same  walk  across  the  fields  that  Mary 
had  taken  earlier  in  the  month  in  the  great  gale. 
There  was  no  wind  to-day,  only  a  low  grey  sky 
that  threatened  more  snow  and  a  dank  chill  in  the 
air.  Mary  took  the  large  hand  between  both  of 
her  own  and  moved  a  little  nearer  to  his  shoulder. 
She  was  enjoying  herself  immensely,  basking  like 
a  sun-warmed  cat  in  the  protection  of  the  most 
unselfish  love  she  had  ever  met  with,  and  concern- 
ing herself  very  little  as  to  the  cost  to  Bromley. 
She  was  quite  satisfied  with  the  excitement  of 
stolen  kisses,  the  being  petted  and  comforted,  the 
joy  and  triumph  of  being  the  first  with  him  be- 
fore everyone  else  in  the  world.  He  gave  her,  in- 
deed, everything  that  her  youth  demanded  and 
nothing  that  it  shrank  from  at  present.  Perhaps 
an  older  or  more  experienced  girl  might  have  felt 
a  secret  desire  that  should  have  matched  the  man's 
own  curbed  passions ;  but  Mary  was  really  so  un- 


252  WANDEEING  FIRES 

touched  by  sexual  emotion,  in  spite  of  the  sordid 
outer  crust  that  association  had  formed  over  her 
mind  with  much  plain-speaking,  that  she  never  al- 
lowed herself  to  think  of  any  closer  tie  between 
them.  She  lived  quite  happily  in  the  present,  and 
had  not  seriously  contemplated  the  future.  She  did 
not  suppose  that  she  would  go  on  being  a  cinema 
actress  for  the  whole  of  her  life,  but,  on  the  other 
hand,  she  never  substituted*  any  definite  change 
for  it.  And  she'  lived  in  the  present  indefinite 
state  of  her  relations  with  Jeff  Bromley  in  exactly 
the  same  fashion.  She  could  not  marry  him — she 
would  not  contemplate  the  possibility  of  giving 
him  up.  As  long  as  she  herself  was  satisfied  with 
being  in  love  with  him  she  took  it  for  granted  that 
he  was  equally  so  with  being  in  love  with  her. 

Had  she  looked  at  him  with  any  compassion,  as 
he  walked  by  her  side  over  the  wintry  fields,  she 
would  have  seen  that  already  she  had  set  her 
mark  on  him.  The  firm  mouth  was  still  more 
firmly  compressed,  the  blue  eyes  had  the  strained 
look  of  a  dog  in  doubt  of  his  duty.  He  was  prac- 
tising a  double  self-control,  for  Mary  as  well  as 
himself,  and  it  told  on  him.  If  sne  had  not  been 
so  young,  if  she  had  even  belonged  to  the  same 
world,  and  known  the  sordid  experiences  of  the 
stage  as  other  girls  had  done,  he  might  have  flung 
chivalry  to  the  winds  and  challenged  her  to  meet 
him  on  an  equality  of  passion.  But  her  different 
position  and  upbringing  had  raised  an  incongru- 
ous barrier  between  them — incongruous,  because 
the  daughter  of  Poker  Trefusis  and  the  niece  of 
Lady  Alex  Ratrick  was  far  less  trained  in  moral 
convention  than  Robin  Ward  or  Ellen  Grey.  He 
did  not  realise  this  curious  fact ;  he  only  saw  the 
little  high-bred  face,  the  fastidious  ways,  the  some- 
thing that  made  her  different  from  the  working  or 


WANDEEING  FIRES  253 

even  middle  classes,  and  he  thrust  Mary  into  a 
shrine  and  burned  candles  of  penance  before  her 
for  every  dangerous  thought  that  assailed  him. 
It  cost  him  something  even  to  walk  by  her  side 
with  her  warm  hands  clinging  to  his  own  in  the 
great  white  muff,  and  he  looked  at  her  once  almost 
as  if  appealing  for  understanding,  for  some  for- 
bearance— but  her  very  lovely  eyes  were  studying 
the  sky  and  the  landscape  rather  than  him  at  the 
moment.  They  were  no  longer  empty,  but  they 
were  very  self-absorbed. 

* '  I  really  think  it  will  snow  before  night,  Jeffy, ' ' 
she  said.  "  And  then  we  can  do  those  scenes  in 
'  The  Woman  Pays  '  to-morrow,  and  get  them 
over. ' '  The  company  had  been  waiting  all  through 
a  green  winter  for  the  unobliging  elements  to  give 
them  the  background  they  wanted,  and  so  far  had 
had  nothing  much  but  rain,  and  sleet,  and  wind — 
always  wind,  that  most  fatal  of  drawbacks  to  the 
camera. 

1 1  If  it  lies!  "  said  Bromley  doubtfully.  "  We 
had  snow  at  the  beginning  of  the  month,  when  that 
gale  raged ;  but  it  was  all  gone  the  next  day. ' ' 

' '  The  evening  I  came  to  your  rooms !  ' ' 

Her  face  flushed  under  the  fur  cap,  and  the  eyes 
she  raised  to  his  were  the  same  that  had  wrought 
his  undoing.  It  was  a  flagrant  invitation  to  stop 
and  kiss,  and  the  man  knew  it.  His  chest  con- 
tracted under  a  painful  breath  that  was  almost  a 
sob,  and  he  walked  on  resolutely  with  a  smile  in 
his  eyes  that  did  not  reach  the  tortured  lines  of  the 
lips. 

"  The  storm  brought  me  one  good  thing  at 
least!  "  he  said.  "  I  can't  think  how  you  do  it, 
Mary," — his  voice  was  as  gaily  teasing  as  during 
the  first  months  of  their  acquaintance,  and  she  felt 
a  little  disappointed  without  acknowledging  it — 


254  WANDERING  FIRES 

"  Your  features  are  not  really  regular;  your  up- 
per lip  is  too  short,  and  you  have  only  one  dim- 
ple  " 

1 '  Anybody  can  have  two.  Of  course  I  did  that 
on  purpose!  " 

"  And  yet  you  contrive  to  be  a  very  good- 
looking  girl !  ' ' 

* '  Good-looking !  ' '  said  Mary  indignantly.  ' '  I  'm 
pretty — very  pretty.  If  you  can't  see  that  you  had 
better  go  and  have  your  eyes  tested.  There's 
something  wrong  with  your  sight. ' ' 

*  *  Beauty  lies  in  the  eye  of  the  beholder,  whether 
he  wears  glasses  or  no.  There  is  a  new  girl  join- 
ing us  next  week,  and  perhaps  she  may  fulfil  all 
my  ideals." 

* '  Is  there  ?  ' '  said  Mary,  with  a  quick  stir  in  her 
voice  that  was  almost  suspicion.  "  I  hadn't  heard. 
Anyone  you  know?  ' 

"  No.  I  am  palpitating  with  expectation.  She 
is  a  Miss  Ethel  Kerr  from  the  Alpine  crowd." 

"  Oh !  "  There  was  a  silence  till  the  next  field 
was  crossed,  and  Mary  almost  imperceptibly  drew 
her  muff  to  herself  and  let  his  hand  go.  Bromley 
gave  a  little  sigh,  half  of  relief,  half  of  regret. 
His  heart  often  ached  while  his  courage  came  back. 

"  Jeff,  you  won't  really  think  her  prettier  than 
I  am — even  if  she  is?  You  won't  like  her  any 
better,  will  you?  " 

He  roused  himself  quickly  out  of  the  sombre 
reverie  into  which  he  had  fallen,  and  looked  at  her 
in  astonishment.  He  suspected  a  mock  humility, 
but  he  had  forgotten  that  love  is  a  very  humbling 
process,  and  that  even  Mary  Trefusis  was  under- 
going moods  of  self-searching,  in  the  which  she 
saw  herself  tottering  on  the  pedestal  of  self- 
esteem. 


WANDERING  FIKES  255 

He  stood  still  this  time,  betrayed  out  of  his 
caution,  and  took  her  face  in  his  chilled  hands. 

"  No  one  could  be  prettier  than  you,  you  beau- 
tiful thing!  "  he  said,  and  his  face  flushed  with 
sudden  excitement.  "  You're  the  only  girl  in  the 
world,  Mary — the  only  one  I  want — oh,  so  badly!  " 

But  the  last  words  were  lost  in  the  folds  of  her 
hair  above  her  small  pink  ear,  and  the  cry  was 
choked  back  once  more  in  his  throat.  Mary  buried 
her  face  for  a  minute  in  his  breast,  cuddling  her- 
self against  him.  She  at  least  was  quite  satisfied. 

The  new  girl  was  so  small  that  she  was  promptly 
nicknamed  "  The  Pigmy."  She  had  dull  golden 
hair  that  was  * '  bobbed  ' '  in  the  usual  fashion,  and 
dusky  eyes  that  betrayed  nothing  but  an  idle  in- 
terest in  the  other  members  of  the  company.  The 
verdict  on  her  was  that  she  was  no  good  for  the 
screen — she  depended  too  much  upon  colouring 
and  effect,  for  her  features  were  merely  adjuncts 
to  her  mannerisms.  She  was  one  of  those  girls 
who  lay  no  claim  to  actual  beauty,  but  are  almost 
always  called  pretty — with  a  reservation.  When 
she  saw  Mary  she  opened  her  brown  eyes  a  little 
wider,  and  her  expression  became  momentarily 
animated. 

"  Why,  it's  Miss  Trefusis,  isn't  It?  "  she  said. 
"  We  were  in  munitions  together." 

That  very  brief  episode  of  war-work  had  almost 
faded  out  of  Mary's  memory,  save  for  its  after- 
taste of  obscene  language  and  stories.  She  met 
the  recognition  carelessly. 

"  At  the  hostel,  wasn't  it?  I  don't  think  we 
were  doing  the  same  work." 

The  newcomer  seemed  to  withdraw  herself  into 
her  small  stature  as  the  Phasmidse  of  tropical 


256  WANDERING  FIEES 

countries  quietly  absorb  themselves  into  their 
background  of  foliage.  She  did  not  shrink  or  run 
away  any  more  than  the  leaf  insect ;  she  stood  still 
and  became  as  if  she  were  not  there,  so  that  Mary 
was  hardly  aware  of  her  personality  any  more. 
But  it  is  possible  that  she  liked  Miss  Trefusis  none 
the  more  for  the  indifference  to  her  small  overture 
of  acquaintanceship,  and  there  was  temper  in  the 
sombre  eyes  for  anyone  who  looked  for  it. 

Ethel  Kerr  became  rather  popular  with  the  cast, 
and  more  particularly  with  the  men.  Arnold 
Grey  ostentatiously  took  her  out  to  tea  in  the  big 
market  town  which  was  within  walking  distance 
(Mary  had  declined  that  invitation  several  times) ; 
and  Percy  Cunningham  constituted  himself  her 
special  "  boy,"  with  flattering  references  to  her 
size.  She  was  "  Mignonne  "  and  "  La  Petite  " 
and  the  "  Fairy,"  as  well  as  the  Pigmy;  but  as 
Mary's  indifference  to  Cunningham  had  nearly 
reached  the  point  of  dislike,  she  was  supremely 
thankful  that  Ethel  Kerr  had  attracted  his  atten- 
tion. If  Mary  did  not  like  people  actively,  her 
feeling  was  entirely  passive  as  a  rule;  in  other 
words,  she  ignored  their  unnecessary  existence. 
And  it  did  not  matter  to  her  that  they  might  re- 
sent this  aloof  attitude.  Cunningham  had  re- 
sented it  with  all  his  contracted  soul,  and  the 
Pigmy  resented  it  in  a  more  subtle  mind  and 
manner. 

The  snow  really  came  at  the  beginning  of  April, 
and  was  obliging  enough  to  lie.  The  company 
took  the  long-delayed  pictures  at  last,  and  were 
then  recalled  to  London  for  some  studio  work.  De- 
spite the  verdict  against  her,  the  Pigmy  remained 
with  Block's,  for  she  had  had  both  stage  experi- 
ence and  some  work  with  the  Alpine  firm  that 
made  teaching  unnecessary.  It  was  by  her  sug- 


WANDERING  FIRES  257 

gestion  that  during  the  precious  snow  the  com- 
pany was  taken  in  a  snowballing  scene,  none  the 
less  effective  for  being  unrehearsed.  Cunningham 
worked  it  into  the  scenario,  and  exploited  it  and 
Ethel  Kerr  together  to  the  manager,  who  was  by 
no  means  hoodwinked  by  the  suggestion  of  ' '  Miss 
Kerr's  own  idea — clever  girl  that!  "  but  gave  the 
young  lady  her  fair  dues  all  the  same.  She  might 
become  a  useful  member  of  the  company  if  Cun- 
ningham chose  to  work  with  and  for  her,  and  Mr. 
Block  was  willing  to  retain  her  by  contract  instead 
of  piece-work. 

Mary  was  glad  to  be  back  in  London  again,  and 
to  fall  back  into  her  intimacy  with  Gladys  Smythe, 
augmented  though  the  household  was  with  a  mas- 
ter, for  George  Smythe  was  at  last  demobilised. 
No  one  in  the  company  had  given  her  quite  the 
same  heroine-worship  as  Gladys,  and  it  only  re- 
mained to  add  George  to  her  list  of  admirers.  It 
took  one  brief  half -hour  to  convince  him  that  she 
was  all  that  Gladys  had  said,  though  she  regretted 
his  presence  a  little  in  the  inmost  recesses  of  her 
mind  as  lively  to  attract  his  wife's  hitherto  un- 
divided attention  from  herself ;  but  his  work  kept 
him  out  of  the  doll's  house  in  Roehampton  most 
of  the  day,  and  his  presence  at  breakfast  and  din- 
ner was  really  rather  pleasant,  since  it  only  added 
a,  deeper  note  to  the  bubble  of  her  laughter.  Mary 
liked  to  absorb  the  whole  devotion  of  her  circle, 
but  she  hardly  missed  anything  from  Gladys '  rap- 
turous greeting  on  her  return  to  Laurel  Lodge. 

11  Do  let  me  look  at  you — I  feel  as  if  I  were 
starved  for  lack  of  looking!  "  said  Mrs.  Smythe, 
and  she  very  simply  meant  what  she  said.  The 
two  girls  stood  facing  each  other,  hands  on  shoul- 
ders, though  Mary  was  much  the  taller,  and  both 
raked  the  other's  face  for  changes. 


258  WANDERING  FIRES 

"  You're  looking  very  well,  Glad — in  spite  of 
what  you  told  me !  ' ' 

'  *  I  hope  it  will  be  a  girl !  ' ' 

"  Why?    I  should  want  a  boy." 

"  So  that  I  can  call  it  Mary!  " 

Mary  laughed.  "  Let's  hope  she  won't  be  '  all 
contrary  '  like  me.  Well?  ' 

"  Yes,  you  are  looking  lovely — you  always  do. 
But — has  something  happened  to  you,  Mary?  " 

"Lots  of  things!  " 

"  Your  eyes  seem  to  have  grown  up." 

A  sudden  sweet  flush  swept  the  beautiful  face 
from  the  roots  of  the  waving  hair  to  the  well-cut 
chin,  but  the  eyes  that  were  no  longer  empty  met 
Gladys'  bravely. 

"I'm  older,  Gladys^  I've  felt  a  lot."  She 
thought  this  was  true,  without  recognising  that  she 
had  felt  only  as  inclination  took  her,  like  a  plant 
that  grows  on  one  side  towards  the  sun. 

"  Is  that  it?  "  Mrs.  Smythe's  face  grew  mater- 
nally tender,  as  if  the  daughter  for  whom  she 
hoped  were  foreshadowed  in  the  girl  before  her. 
"  My  beauty,  have  you  fallen  in  love?  ' 

"  Yes!  "  Mary  defied  her  own  blushes  with 
laughter. 

1 1  And  it 's  Jeff  Bromley !  Oh,  it  must  be  Jeff !  ' 
The  dismay  that  feared  another  name  did  not 
reach  Mary's  understanding.  She  never  saw  the 
spectre  of  Eddie  Thorne  that  haunted  Mrs. 
Smythe's  solicitude,  and,  with  a  touch  of  super- 
stition, Gladys  would  not  even  speak  his  name. 

"  Yes — it  couldn't  be  anyone  else!  " 

The  proud  little  head  went  up  as  Mary  in  her 
turn  thought  of  Cunningham,  and  Arnold  Grey, 
and  even  of  Major  Durham  and  Oliver  Ogilvie. 
All  of  these  were  impossible,  and  Jeff  the  very 


WANDERING  FIRES  259 

natural  centre  to  her  life.  But  she  was  totally  un- 
prepared for  Mrs.  Smythe's  point  of  view. 

1 1  I  am  glad — I  am  thankful !  '  Gladys '  embrace 
was  almost  frenzied.  "  I  have  had  such  qualms 
because,  of  course,  you  know  so  many  men." 

"  None  like  him." 

"  No,  I'm  sure.  And  when  are  you  going  to  be 
married?  Don't  wait,  Mary — never  mind  poverty, 
or  living  in  rooms  even.  It's  an  unsettling  life, 
but  you  will  be  together." 

The  radiance  of  Mary's  face  did  not  perceptibly 
alter,  but  she  found  herself  instantly  tongue-tied. 
It  had  seemed  as  natural  to  confide  in  Gladys  as 
in  her  own  heart,  though  she  had  not  done  so  to 
any  of  the  cinema  girls,  perhaps  because  it  was  all 
so  patent  that  to  say,  "  I  am  in  love  with  Jeff  and 
he  with  me,"  was  wraste  of  words.  As  to  what 
they  had  thought,  Mary  had  not  troubled  herself. 
Now,  in  a  flash,  she  saw  the  point  of  view  of  the 
middle  classes,  that  love  for  a  decent  woman  pre- 
supposes marriage — some  day.  It  was  impossible 
to  tell  Gladys  what  she  had  learned  herself  from 
Jeff  as  long  ago  as  the  autumn,  because  Gladys 
would  have  reluctantly  decided  that  Mary  must  at 
once  give  up  all  thought  of  him,  grieved  though  she 
would  have  been  and  almost  fretful  over  her 
spoiled  romance.  And  Mary  even  then  had  had  no 
least  intention  of  giving  him  up,  though  at  that 
time  she  had  only  been  growing  rather  fond  of 
him.  She  saw  the  two  points  of  view  side  by  side 
with  a  directness  that  staggered  her,  and  opened 
her  eyes  to  the  situation  as  it  seemed  to  the  rest 
of  the  world.  The  indefinite  relation  suddenly 
demanded  a  definite  end.  What  that  end  should 
be  she  could  not  tell  herself — she  certainly  could 
not  tell  Gladys.  Instead  of  answering,  she  said: 


260  WANDERING  FIEES 

"I'm  keeping  you  standing,  and  you  oughtn't  to 
stand.  Do  lie  down  on  the  sofa,  and  I'll  sit  at 
your  feet." 

11  You  are  growing  just  as  thoughtful  as  Mr. 
Bromley,  Mary.  He  always  took  such  good  care 
of  us!  " 

"  He's  always  like  that.  He  has  been  taking 
care  of  me  all  these  months." 

But  in  a  further  revelation  she  saw  how  much  he 
had  taken  care,  and  for  the  first  time  realised  that 
he  had  had  no  help  from  herself.  She  had  not 
wished  to  help  him,  and  a  dread  of  she  knew  not 
what  came  over  her  with  the  recognition  of  his 
self-control.  Supposing  that  Jeff,  like  Gladys 
Smythe,  faced  the  inevitable  progression  of  their 
love,  where  would  it  lead?  To  some  more  decided 
step,  or  to  a  parting  of  the  ways?  It  could  not 
stay  always  at  the  same  stage;  it  was  only  his 
desperate  resistance  that  had  kept  the  delicate 
balance  between  what  would  have  been  the  altitude 
of  an  engagement  and  the  headlong  descent  of  an 
illicit  passion.  She  had  never  faced  her  own  inten- 
tion, and  she  did  not  wish  to  do  so  now.  She 
would  rather  have  left  him  to  bear  the  strain,  as 
he  had  done  so  far.  But  circumstances  were 
hurrying  her  to  a  decision  before  she  was  aware, 
and  the  man  had  reached  the  breaking-point  be- 
fore her. 

Mary  came  in  to  rehearsal  one  May  morning  to 
find  that  the  cast  had  already  arrived  at  the  studio 
and  was  awaiting  the  manager.  Most  of  the  win- 
dows at  the  back  of  The  Grange  were  open,  and  a 
grateful  wind  was  blowing  in  from  the  garden  to 
cool  the  sudden  heat  that  had  succeeded  April's 
tardy  snow.  The  cast  were  grouped  up  and  down 
the  stairs  to  the  studio  itself,  hoping  prayerfully 
that  the  pictures  might  be  taken  outside  this 


WANDERING  FIEES  261 

morning,  for  the  sun  on  the  glass  roof  of  the  studio 
would  be  well-nigh  intolerable.  Mary  looked  as  by 
right  for  Bromley,  and  to  her  faint  annoyance 
discovered  him  on  the  top  stair  above  her  talking 
to  Ethel  Kerr.  The  Pigmy  was  looking  up  at 
him  with  unsmiling  brown  eyes,  and  talking  rap- 
idly, and  as  Mary  dropped  on  to  the  stair  below 
them  she  heard  her  close  the  conversation  with 
the  remark:  "  Well,  I  thought  I  would  tell  you, 
even  if  nothing  comes  of  it.  You  might  like  to 
know. ' ' 

"  Yes,  thanks  awfully,  Ethel — it  was  very  good 
of  you,"  Bromley  said,  but  in  spite  of  the  sincerity 
of  his  thanks,  they  had  a  tired  sound,  as  if  he  were 
accepting  a  duty  rather  than  a  boon.  The  next 
instant  he  had  seen  Mary  and  smiled  at  her,  but  he 
did  not  continue  the  discussion,  or  explain  what  it 
was  that  Ethel  Kerr  had  told  him,  and  Mary  felt 
suddenly  outside  their  confidence.  The  threaten- 
ing of  a  thunderstorm  came  back  to  her  eyes,  and, 
glancing  at  the  Pigmy,  she  seemed  to  remember 
that  she  had  always  faintly  disliked  this  girl  at  the 
munition  factory,  though  had  it  been  suggested  to 
her  a  year  ago  she  would  have  indignantly  denied 
that  she  disliked  anyone  she  met  in  war- work. 

It  had  become  an  unwritten  law  in  Block's 
Cinema  Company  that  when  the  "  leading  man  " 
sat  down  beside  Mary  Trefusis  the  rest  of  the  cast 
drifted  away.  But  on  this  occasion  the  Pigmy  did 
not  move.  She  sat  still  on  the  top  stair  as  if  a 
little  overcome  by  the  heat,  her  head  with  its  shoro 
gold  hair  leaning  back  against  the  banister  and 
showing  her  whitened  throat  and  a  good  deal  of 
her  breast  that  the  crepe-de-chine  blouse  left  bare. 
Her  make-up  was  like  a  mask  to-day,  and  her 
sombre  eyes  expressed  nothing  at  all.  And  yet 
Mary  sensed  a  diabolical  mischief  and  malicious 


262  WANDERING  FIEES 

satisfaction  in  her,  from  the  deep  parting  of  her 
hair  at  the  right  side  of  her  head  to  her  small  white 
shoes.  The  Pigmy  was  in  exquisite  proportions, 
though  they  might  be  small.  When  the  call  came 
for  the  scenes  in  the  garden  she  rose  yawning,  and 
loitered  down  the  stairs  with  Bromley  and  Cun- 
ningham and  Robin  Ward  and  a  host  of  supers — • 
fifteen-shillings-a-day  people,  brought  in  for  a 
crowd.  Mary  might  fume,  but  she  had  no  chance 
to  get  Jeff  by  himself  until  the  long  hot  day  had 
drawn  itself  out  to  nearly  six  o'clock,  and  the 
work  was  over.  They  had  been  kept  in  for  meals 
served  from  the  kitchen,  and  Jeff's  scenes  had  been 
mostly  with  Miss  Egan,  and  Cunningham  himself, 
and  Ellen  Grey.  Her  own  part  was  a  small  one  in 
this  scenario,  owing  to  intention  on  Cunningham's 
part  as  she  guessed.  Nevertheless,  Block  would 
not  have  her  left  out  entirely,  and  her  tiresome  en- 
trances and  exits  were  endless  in  proportion  to 
the  time  she  was  on  in  the  scenes,  or  the  role  she 
had  to  fill.  She  wondered  half  savagely  if  she 
would  get  an  opportunity  to  go  home  with  Jeff,  or 
if  Ethel  Kerr  would  attach  herself  to  them  still ; 
but  she  heard  Arnold  Grey  remind  the  girl  eagerly 
that  they  were  going  out  to  a  dancing-club  that 
night,  and  when  she  herself  came  out  into  the  cool 
evening  through  the  old  iron  gates,  Bromley  was 
waiting  for  her  as  usual. 

"  Anything  on,  Jeff?  "  she  said  carelessly,  turn- 
ing to  walk  by  his  side. 

"  Nothing  unusual,  is  there,  sweetheart?  "  He 
was  fond  of  the  old-fashioned  word,  and  used  it 
very  tenderly. 

1 '  I  thought  that  girl  was  telling  you  something 
this  morning." 

"  Oh— Ethel  Kerr!  '  He  turned  his  face  as  if 
by  chance  to  the  traffic,  away  from  her,  but  they 


WANDERING  FIRES  263 

had  to  cross  the  road  at  the  minute,  and  she  could 
not  swear  it  was  intentional.  Only,  his  face  looked 
very  strained  and  too  lined  for  his  age  in  the  broad 
spring  evening,  and  she  saw  the  ravage  that — 
something — had  made  in  him  of  late.  She  would 
not  say  that  it  was  her  love  that  had  tried  him  so 
shrewdly,  but  her  heart  suffered  a  pang  of  dismay, 
almost  of  rebellion. 

"  Yes,  she  was  telling  me  of  a  new  venture  of 
Eden  and  Veschoyle's — a  good  play,  the  sort  of 
part  I  used  to  love  before  I  took  up  cinema  work." 

11  The  real  stage?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  But  you  won't  think  of  going  back  to  stage 
work?  " 

"  I  am  thinking  of  it.  Eden  rang  me  up  on  the 
telephone  later  on,  when  you  were  at  lunch " 

"  That  girl  gave  him  your  number — told  him 
where  to  find  you !  ' 

"  Very  likely.  It  was  kind  of  her.  It's  a  good 
offer." 

"  Kind  of  her!  '  Mary's  eyes  blazed.  One  of 
the  uncontrolled  furies  that  had  routed  all  the 
family  except  Lady  Alex,  wrho  excelled  them, 
threatened  to  seize  her  now.  "  And  what  becomes 
of  me  ?  Where  do  I  come  in,  in  this  new  arrange- 
ment? " 

"  It  wouldn't  part  us,  Mary."  He  looked 
round  at  her  quickly,  almost  shocked.  *  *  I  should 
be  in  London,  and  you  would  still  stay  in  Block 's, 
wouldn't  you?  " 

"  We  shouldn't  be  together."  Her  breast  be- 
gan to  pant  and  the  vague  fear  that  had  beset  her 
since  Gladys  Smythe's  practical  reference  to  mar- 
riage darkened  to  a  certainty.  "  The  money 
wouldn't  be  so  good  on  the  stage,  even  if  you 
played  lead — and  you  might  have  to  go  on  tour — 


264  WANDERING  FIRES 

that  would  part  us!  Oh  " — her  voice  rose  in  a 
cry,  heedless  of  passers-by — "  you  are  doing  this 
on  purpose !  You  want  to  end  it  all !  " 

They  had  reached  the,  road  with  the  row  of  little 
villas  where  Mary  had  found  a  refuge  last  year. 
Behind  the  green  door  of  Laurel  Lodge,  even  now 
in  view,  was  pretty,  ordinary  Gladys  Sniythe,  with 
her  middle-class  ideals,  and  George,  just  returned 
home  and  wishful  to  talk.  There  was  no  privacy 
to  be  expected  there.  Bromley  suddenly  turned 
back  to  the  high  road,  drawing  the  girl  with  him. 

"  Come  round  to  my  rooms  for  a  minute,  "  he 
said.  "  We  must  talk  this  out.  It  can't  matter." 

She  did  not  answer.  She  almost  ran  to  his 
hurried  stride  until  they  reached  the  house 
where'  for  some  years  he  had  had  lodgings,  and 
was  too  well  known  to  be  turned  away  like  others, 
who  clamoured  in  vain.  He  opened  the  door  with 
his  latchkey,  and  showed  Mary  into  the  sitting- 
room,  a  pleasant,  rather  shabby  place,  full  of 
sketches  of  her  own  face,  and  old  pipes,  and  dog- 
eared, paper-covered  books.  She  seemed  to  sniff 
the  very  atmosphere  of  the  man  as  she  stood  in 
the  midst  of  his  possessions  and  heard  him  close 
the  door  behind  them. 

"  Sit  down,  Mary,  "  he  said,  and  the  incisive, 
actor's  voice  had  never  sounded  less  like  an 
actor's  and  more  like  a  man's.  It  was  a  little 
hoarse,  lower  than  usual,  and  very  troubled.  He 
did  not  look  at  her  either,  but  walked  across  the 
room  to  the  window  and  drew  the  blind  up,  letting 
in  the  slanting  evening  light  across  an  old-fash- 
ioned writing-desk  with  a  high  fretted  top  through 
which  the  sinking  sun  fell  in  patches  on  the  faded 
walls. 

Mary  did  not  sit  down.  She  stood  in  the  middle 
of  the  room  in  her  thin  grey  gown — she  was  still  in 


WANDERING  FIRES  265 

half  mourning — watching  him  with  grave  eyes  that 
had  a  touch  of  desperation  in  them.  He  knew  that 
when  he  looked  at  her  he  should  see  her  beauty 
afresh,  as  if  for  the  last  time — the  small  head  with 
such  a  quantity  of  fair  brown  hair  wound  round 
it,  and  that  vivid  face,  with  so  much  expression 
and  so  little  colour  except  in  the  curved  lips. 
Mary's  beauty  and  vitality  were  all  in  line  and  deli- 
cacy of  moulding  rather  than  in  splash  of  colour 
and  contrast,  as  he  knew  from  every  loving  sketch 
strewed  about  the  room.  Surely  the  most  expres- 
sive thing  in  her  face  was  the  line  of  the  eyebrow, 
unless  one  gave  preference  to  the  short  curve  of 
the  upper  lip !  But  then  those  wide  eyes,  and  the 
shadow  of  her  lashes  on  her  round  cheek  when  she 
looked  down!  The  picture  in  his  mind  betrayed 
him  into  looking  at  her  at  last,  and  he  saw  again 
the  very  face  with  which  she  had  acted  in  the  great 
scene  in  "  The  Woman  Pays,"  and  that  Block  had 
applauded.  It  was  not  acting  now,  even  if  it  had 
been  but  subconscious  reality  then.  They  looked 
at  each  other  for  a  long  moment  in  silence  across 
the  sun-fretted,  shabby  room. 

"  You  are  doing  this  on  purpose,"  she  repeated 
slowly,  as  if  the  words  formed  themselves  on  her 
lips  and  in  her  brain  at  the  same  moment.  "  You 
want  to  go  away  from  me. ' ' 

"Yes." 

She  wondered  with  sudden  dismay  why  he 
looked  so  shamed,  why  his  blue  eyes  were  so  mis- 
erable and  defeated.  He  still  stood  near  the  old 
writing-desk  and  she  in  the  middle  of  the  room, 
speaking  to  each  other  as  if  across  a  barrier  he 
had  raised.  She  was  not  ashamed  herself,  or  con- 
scious of  any  defeat,  though  she  feared  some 
section  of  his  will  that  she  could  not  combat. 

"  Don't  you  want  me  any  more,  Jeff?  " 


266  WANDERING  FIRES 

11  Oh,  my  God!  "  said  Bromley  suddenly,  rais- 
ing his  shaking  hands  to  his  face.  "  Can't  you 
have  some  pity?  Don't  you  understand — any- 
thing? '  He  drew  nearer  to  her,  slowly,  as  if 
drawn  without  any  wish  on  his  own  part,  and 
snatched  her  hands  suddenly  in  his,  holding  her 
before  him  with  a  grasp  that  hurt  her.  Then  she 
saw  his  face,  seared  with  hot  tears,  tortured,  all 
the  youth  and  good  looks  out  of  it  for  the  moment, 
in  the  stress  of  passions  that  were  stronger  than 
anything  she  had  yet  faced  in  man. 

11  We  can't  go  on  like  this — I'm  breaking  down 
— you've  asked  too  much  of  me,"  he  said  almost 
wildly.  "  I'm  a  man,  Mary — a  man.  Don't  you 
know  what  that  means?  I  can't  be  with  you — day 
by  day — and  make  love  to  you — and  know  you  love 
me — and  not  make  you  my  wife. ' ' 

He  dropped  her  hands  suddenly,  and  gathered 
her  to  him,  his  bowed  head  resting  half  against  her 
shoulder.  She  found  the  stain  afterwards  of  his 
hot  tears  on  the  pretty  grey  chiffon,  and  tore  the 
fichu  away  because  the  remembrance  hurt  so. 

But  her  heart  was  no  longer  sore  at  the  moment. 
She  was  only  flushed  and  trembling  with  a  kind  of 
reflex  of  his  feeling,  and  her  eyes — those  wonderful 
eyes — were  full  of  soft  fire.  She  put  her  hand  up 
to  his  crisp,  dark  hair,  and  held  his  face  against 
her  warm  neck. 

11  Never  mind — what  does  marriage  matter?  " 
she  said,  with  a  quick,  eager  breath.  "  We've 
known  all  along  that  we  couldn't  marry. " 

' '  I  ought  not  to  have — loved  you, ' '  he  whispered 
back  brokenly.  "  I  ought  to  have  left  you — long 
before.  ..." 

"  You  can't  leave  me,  Jeffy — we  can't  be 
parted." 


WANDERING  FIRES  267 

* '  I  must,  darling.  You  don 't  know — what  might 
happen."  He  raised  his  head  with  a  sudden 
trembling  of  his  whole  frame,  and  his  hands,  linked 
round  her  waist,  seemed  to  loosen.  "  I'll  take 
Eden's  offer — you  must  let  me  go  away  for  a  little 
while.  I'll  get  my  grip  on  myself  again — soon. 
I  'm  ashamed  to  have  told  you. ' ' 

She  flung  her  head  back,  and  looked  up  into  his 
eyes,  the  blood  rising  slowly  to  her  pale  face,  and 
the  maddening  lips  a  little  parted. 

"  Take  me  too,  Jeff!  "  she  said,  and  clung  to 
him  as  his  own  clasp  slackened.  "  What  do  I 
care?  Let  me  live  with  you — as  your  wife.  I 
swear  I  '11  be  as  true  to  you  as  if  we  were  married 
—I'll  never  go  back  on  what  I've  said.  Jeff!  " 
The  pleading  voice  was  close  to  his  ear,  and  some 
new  soul  seemed  looking  at  him  through  that  per- 
fect bodily  beauty.  "  You've  got  all  the  best  of 
me.  You  will  make  me  something  quite  different 
if  I  live  my  life  with  you. ' ' 

There  was  a  silence  so  long  that  it  seemed  as  if 
the  sun  died  leisurely  away  from  the  walls,  and 
out  beyond  the  windows,  and  twilight  began  to 
creep  into  the  stirred  atmosphere  of  the  room. 
When  he  spoke,  his  voice  was  so  unlike  his  own 
that  it  seemed  to  belong  to  a  stranger. 

"  You  don't  know  what  you  are  saying.  If  I 
took  advantage  of  it  I  should  be  the  worst  kind 
of  cad." 

' '  I  do  know,  Jeff. ' '  Her  words  gained  force  and 
something  like  fierceness  in  contrast  to  his,  and 
she  pressed  against  his  unresponsive  figure,  using 
all  the  persuasion  of  sense  and  sex — any  ally  in  her 
struggle  to  win.  * '  I  am  not  the  jeune  fille  you  al- 
ways make  me.  I  was  not  reared  in  that  school.  I 
have  seen  plenty  of  life,  though  I  have  never  loved 


268  WANDERING  FIRES 

a  man  before.  Girls  like  I  am  grow  accustomed  to 
knowing  things  long  before  they  marry.  Let  me 
stay  with  you — I  know  what  it  means." 

"  I  won't." 

It  was  as  if  she  felt  his  will  fighting  hard  to  keep 
the  temptation  at  bay,  and  challenged  his  mind 
rather  than  his  body. 

"  If  you  give  me  up  you  will  lose  me — you  will 
never  see  this  Mary  that  you  loved,  again.  I  shall 
go  back  to  the  old  habits,  and  the  old  view  of  life, 
and  be  the  kind  of  girl  I  was  when  you  met  me  at 
Restawhile.  I  warn  you !  ' ' 

But  he  repeated  despairingly:    "  You  don't  un- 
derstand.    You  don't  know  what  it  would  be  like. 
If  I  took  you,  I  should  take  you  for  good  and  all— 
you  couldn't  throw  it  aside  as  a  married  woman 
does  an  intrigue  in  your  world." 

"I  know." 

"  You  don't  know.  I  should  prevent  your  mar- 
rying and  having  a  home  and  children  of  your 
own — children  that  you  could  be  proud  of,  that 
need  not  be  half  excused,  and  lied  about.  Darling, 
I  love  you  too  utterly,  and  too  honestly,  I  hope, 
to  drag  you  through  life  with  me  like  that. ' ' 

His  arms  tightened  round  her  again  in  one 
strong  clasp,  but  there  was  no  yielding  in  the  earn- 
estness of  his  manner.  He  had  the  man's  simple 
sense  that  he  was  protecting  her  against  herself, 
against  both  of  them:  of  the  more  subtle  loss  of 
which  Mary  struggled  to  speak  he  knew  nothing. 

But  the  hopelessness  of  her  position  was  sud- 
denly borne  in  on  the  girl,  not  from  any  greater 
argument  of  his  last  words,  but  as  if  the  strength 
of  his  resolution  had  reached  her  at  last  through 
all  her  self-delusive  hope.  She  looked  at  him 
strangely,  as  if  that  side  of  her  personality  that 
she  had  said  he  loved  were  looking  its  last,  and  her 


WANDERING  FIRES  269 

eyes  darkened  as  if  the  light  in  them  went  out 
with  the  dying  day.  For  a  minute  he  still  held  her, 
she  consenting;  and  then,  very  slowly,  she  drew 
her  arms  away  from  his  neck  and  her  supple  body 
from  his  embrace,  and  turned  away  as  if  indeed 
she  turned  her  life  from  his. 

*  *  Then  I  may  as  well  go  home, ' '  she  said  quietly. 
11  Don't  come  too — Mr.  Smythe  will  be  back,  and 
— we  should  have  to  talk  to  them  both. ' ' 

He  did  not  answer.  In  the  moment  of  his  vic- 
tory he  felt  the  discouragement  of  defeat  more  bit- 
terly than  she  could  ever  understand.  And  yet 
she  knew,  as  only  a  woman  can,  that  they  were 
both  to  be  supremely  pitied.  The  last  half-hour 
that  had  seemed  so  full  of  crisis,  and  beyond  the 
count  of  time,  had  dwindled  to  an  ordinary  eve- 
ning, without  any  great  circumstance  to  mark  it  as 
an  epoch.  They  would  meet  to-morrow  at  re- 
hearsal as  usual,  they  might  even  bridge  over  the 
gulf  between  them  in  a  fashion,  but  they  both  knew 
that  the  gulf  was  there  from  this  time  forth,  and 
Mary  knew  also  that  the  parting  of  their  ways  lay 
only  a  little  further  on. 

He  opened  the  door  for  her  mechanically,  but 
she  stopped  him  when  he  would  have  followed  her 
out  into  the  hall,  with  a  little  imperious  gesture 
that  Ellen  Grey  or  even  Miss  Egan  could  never 
have  learned.  The  daylight  was  still  in  the  streets, 
and  the  May  evening  was  warm  from  the  long,  hot 
day.  Mary  looked  at  the  roads  that  had  grown  so 
familiar  with  eyes  that  saw  them  again  as  some- 
thing detached  from  her,  outside  of  her  life,  just 
as  she  had  when  she  first  came  out  to  Roehamp- 
ton.  It  was  an  impression  of  impermanence,  of 
this  phase  of  life  passing  from  her  as  an  experi- 
ence and  nothing  more.  Yesterday,  to-day  even,  it 
had  seemed  her  destiny.  Now  it  was  only  as  the 


270  WANDERING  FIRES 

lure  of  wandering  fires  that  had  led  her  out  of 
her  right  road. 

"  I  can  always  go  somewhere  else — do  some- 
thing else,"  she  thought  restlessly.  And  then  a 
great  voiceless  cry  seemed  to  rise  up  from  her 
heart  and  lose  itself  in  the  emptiness  of  the  uni- 
verse. She  had  followed  wandering  fires  .  .  . 
and  lost  her  way. 


CHAPTER  XV 

ALICIA  THffiLSTON  had  returned  to  the 
sparrows,  and  the  smuts,  and  the  Hammer- 
smith Broadway  in  the  spring.  Once  more 
the  odd  window  between  her  room  and  the  next 
was  opened  to  ventilate  the  further  attic,  and  she 
was  aware  of  little  scraps  of  song — musical  com- 
edy songs — that  broke  in  on  her  reflections  during 
the  hours  of  her  meagre  meals,  for  she  had  a 
neighbour,  as  usual — a  girl  with  an  immature  face 
and  a  great  quantity  of  red  hair  that  was  too  beau- 
tiful to  "  bob  "  and  too  useful  an  asset  on  the 
stage.  Mrs.  Thirlston — for  to  the  world  she  had 
brevet  rank — had  met  her  neighbour  on  the  stairs 
at  the  end  of  the  first  week  after  she  occupied 
the  further  attic,  and  had  looked  at  her  compre- 
hensively with  her  green  eyes. 

"  I  think  you  have  the  room  next  to  mine?  ' 
she  said,  as  the  girl  passed  her  with  a  market- 
basket  in  her  hand. 

"  I  hope  we  don't  disturb  you!  "  said  the  girl, 
flushing  a  little.  "  "When  my  friend  comes  to  see 
me,  I  mean." 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  Mrs.  Thirlston.  "  I  assure 
you  I  hardly  knew  he  was  there.  What  I  meant 
to  suggest  was  that  perhaps  when  you  are  alone 
you  might  like  to  have  the  window  open  between 
our  rooms.  My  own  window  lets  in  a  good  deal  of 
light  and  air  that  might  help  yours." 

"  Oh,  thank  you!  "  said  the  red-haired  girl 

271 


272  WANDERING  FIRES 

gratefully.  "  He  did  say  it  was  rather  stuffy." 
She  went  down  a  step  or  two  further,  and  paused 
again.  ' '  He  loves  fresh  air  so !  "  she  added. 

Mrs.  Thirlston  smiled  as  if  a  little  tired,  but 
then  she  was  going  up  while  the  girl  was  going 
down,  and  it  was  a  climb  from  the  ground  floor. 
4 '  Come  and  have  tea  with  me,  and  talk  about  him 
if  you  want  to, ' '  she  said. 

But  when  the  girl  had  disappeared  into  the  dark 
floors  underneath,  the  old  woman's  long  upper  lip 
tightened  in  an  anxious  manner.  She  knew  that 
her  neighbour  had  a  friend,  and  that  he  had  come 
several  times  to  see  her  in  the  last  week.  That 
was  nothing.  All  the  girls  who  lived  next  door  in 
the  combined  room  that  was  an  attic  had  friends  to 
see  them.  Mrs.  Thirlston 's  trained  ears  could  gen- 
erally decide  if  they  were  light  comedy,  or  heavies, 
or  legitimate  drama  when  the  window  was  left 
open,  as  it  had  a  careless  habit  of  being  after  a 
girl  had  found  out  Alicia 's  gift  of  silence  and  sym- 
pathy. That  was  also  immaterial.  Actors  did  not 
matter.  Besides,  nothing  she  could  say  or  do 
would  alter  a  custom  that  prevailed  on  tour  and 
amongst  all  classes  of  the  profession.  What 
troubled  her  was  that  her  new  neighbour 's  friend 
was  a  gentleman  and  belonged  to  a  different  world 
to  that  which  inhabited  combined  rooms  in  Ham- 
mersmith. She  had  heard  his  voice  through  the 
wall  even  when  the  window  was  closed,  and  the 
words,  though  slurred  and  inaudible,  were  not  in 
an  actor's  voice.  Once  Alicia  Thirlston  had  been 
going  to  leave  her  room  when  her  neighbour's  door 
opened  and  the  friend  came  out  and  walked  down- 
stairs. She  drew  back,  though  it  was  dusk,  and  she 
could  only  see  his  head  and  shoulders  disappearing 
down  the  stairs.  It  was  all  she  ever  did  see  of 
him,  but  the  momentary  outline  was  a  dis'tinct  im- 


WANDERING  FIRES  273 

pression.  She  felt  that  he  ought  to  have  had  rac- 
ing glasses  slung  over  his  shoulders,  or  the  latest 
type  of  Purdey  under  his  arm. 

The  neighbour  came  to  tea,  and  said  that  her 
name  was  Irene  Vansittart.  She  was  "  out  "  for 
two  or  three  weeks,  but  expected  to  get  a  shop 
after  Easter.  She  talked  a  good  deal  about  her 
friend  by  constant  references  to  him,  his  prefer- 
ences, and  his  very  mundane  creed.  He  appeared 
to  be  a  man  of  the  world,  at  least.  When  she  had 
gone,  Miss  Alicia  went  and  fed  the  sparrows  at 
the  open  casement,  looking  over  the  misty  sunshine 
and  the'  drifting  smoke  of  London.  Hammersmith 
on  a  spring  day  is  nearly  as  depressing  as  Kensal 
Green.  The  world  looked  very  tangled  to  Alicia 
Thirlston. 

"  I  can't  do  anything  except  let  her  talk  about 
it,"  she  said  to  the  sparrows.  "  Perhaps  she  may 
get  an  engagement  in  time." 

She  carefully  closed  the  communicating  window 
at  the  first  hint  of  double  movement  in  the  next 
room  or  a  masculine  voice.  But  Irene  herself  took 
no  such  precaution.  Mrs.  Thirlston  was  seventy, 
and  she  did  not  even  make  up  as  other  ladies  of 
that  age  do  occasionally.  She  was  like  a  plain 
safe-deposit  for  Irene's  confidences.  The  next 
time  the  girl  came  in  to  tea  she  said,  ' '  My  friend 
Mr.  Thorne, ' '  and  it  was  Alicia  who  dropped  a  cup 
and  nearly  broke  it,  not  Irene. 

"  How  clumsy  I  am  growing!  "  said  the  older 
woman.  "  That's  the  result  of  rheumatic  gout  in 
my  hands. ' ' 

1 1  How  funny !  My  friend  says  he  will  have  gout 
some  day." 

"  Tell  him  to  give  up  cocktails,"  said  Mrs. 
Thirlston.  "  He  has  still  time  to  reform." 

"  H»  doesn't  want  to  reform — he  has  too  good  a 


274  WANDERING  FIEES 

time.  I  wish  I  did !  He  says  you  always  can  have 
if  you  take  your  fences  as  they  come ' ' 

' '  Does  he  say  that  you  can  always  have  the  gout 
too?  " 

"Oh,  I  shan't  have  the  gout !  " 

"  Only  the  good  time?  " 

"  Girls  wouldn't  like  a  man's  good  time.  They 
don't  want  to  get  drunk  and  have  a  rowdy.  He 
says " 

"  When  are  you  going  on  tour?  " 

"  Next  week."  The  young  face  fell,  and  the 
heavy  hair  cast  a  shadow  over  the  eager  eyes. 

"I'm  very  glad — though.  I  shall  miss  you.  It's 
bad  to  be  out,  isn't  it?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  the  girl,  without  elation.  "  I  won- 
der who  will  have  that  room  after — after  me !  ' ' 

Her  face  suddenly  crimsoned.  She  got  up  and 
said  good-bye,  passing  into  her  dark,  contracted 
little  room,  from  whence,  through  the  open  win- 
dow, Mrs.  Thirlston  heard  her  singing: 

"  'Tis  but  the  coward  who  deceives  the  friend  that  in  his  faith 

believes! 

Do    what    you   will,   I   tell   you    still   there's   honour   among 
thieves! " 

Irene's  friend  always  came  in  the  afternoon. 
Noting  this  fact,  Mrs.  Thirlston  punctiliously  shut 
the  window  after  lunch  and  kept  it  closed  till  sup- 
per-time— he  never  stayed  so  late — for  the  first 
two  or  three  days  of  the  following  week.  The 
fourth  day  she  forgot  it,  being  very  tired,  for  it 
must  be  remembered  that  she  was  an  old  lady. 
Furthermore,  she  must  have  dozed  off,  sitting  by 
the  casement  that  looked  far  down  on  to  the 
streets,  where  the  sparrows  twittered,  for  when 
she  woke  with  a  slight  start  she  thought  a  man 


WANDERING  FIEES  275 

was  speaking  in  her  own  room,  and — it  was  too 
late  to  close  the  communicating  window.  The  pe- 
culiar, slightly  drawling  voice  came  from  her 
neighbour's  room,  intentionally  illiterate,  charm- 
ingly slangy,  with  an  atrocious  accent  that  might 
have  belonged  to  the  House  of  Lords  or  a  London 
flower-seller. 

'  *  Well,  how  are  yer  ?  "  it  said. 

Irene's  reply  was  inaudible,  but  could  not  have 
been  satisfactory.  A  few  minutes  later  Mrs. 
Thirlston,  straining  to  fix  her  attention  on  the 
sparrows,  heard  against  her  will  a  new  accent  of 
coaxing  through  the  window. 

"  What's  the  matter,  dear?  What's  the  mat- 
ter, Irene?  .  .  .  You're  not  going  to  blub,  are  you? 
I  want  to  leave  you  feeling  happy,  and  I  can't  if 
you  are  like  this.  ...  I  shan't  enjoy  myself  a  bit 
if  we  don't  part  friends.  ..." 

Mrs.  Thirlston  put  her  hands  up  to  her  ears  in 
despairing  protest,  and  cast  a  glance  at  the  win- 
dow between  the  two  rooms.  If  she  crept  to  it  and 
pushed  it  to  close  it,  inch  by  inch,  would  he  hear  or 
see?  But  then,  it  was  the  girl's  last  chance — this 
was  good-bye  before  she  went  away.  Life  is  very 
short,  and  poor  of  romance. 

Alicia  Thirlston  dropped  her  han'ds  into  her  lap 
and  sat  with  perfectly  hopeless  eyes  fixed  on  the 
line  of  sky  between  the  house-roofs.  She  could  not 
risk  betraying  her  presence,  perhaps  to  cut  short 
the  girl's  last  pitiful  hour.  And  as  she  sat  she 
heard  something  else  that  made  her  start,  like  an 
electric  shock.  She  had  not  noticed  a  step  in  the 
room  beyond,  and  yet  the  man  must  have  crossed 
it  with  evil  facility  and  the  lightness  of  a  cat,  for 
she  heard  the  click  of  the  falling  lock.  .  .  .  Locked 
in!  . 


276  WANDERING  FIRES 

Alicia  Thirlston  put  her  hands  not  over  her  eari 
after  all,  but  over  her  eyes. 

•  ••*•••• 

The  room  next  door  was  never  empty  for  long. 
Irene  Vansittart  (a  good  name  for  the  bills,  an 
excellent  name!)  had  not  left  solitude  and  mem- 
ories behind  her  for  forty-eight  hours  before  there 
was  a  fresh  tenant. 

Mrs.  Thirlston  shopped  in  the  King's  Road, 
Hammersmith,  and  cooked  such  meals  over  an  oil- 
stove  as  she  did  not  get  in  eating-shops.  It  was  a 
vile  manner  of  prolonging  life  by  nourishment' that 
she  particularly  disliked.  When  she  returned  one 
evening  with  a  bulging  market-basket,  and  dragged 
it  up  five  flights  of  stairs,  she  entered  her  room 
with  a  sigh  of  relief,  to  find  it  already  occupied. 
There  was  a  pilgrim  basket  set  down  in  the  middle 
of  the  shabby  carpet,  and  a  long,  slender  figure  in 
her  own  chair  by  the  sparrows'  casement.  Mrs. 
Thirlston  stood  still  and  looked  again  to  assure 
herself  of  the  truth. 

* '  Mary  Trefusis !  ' '  she  said. 

The  face  turned  to  her  was  not  the  Mary  Tre- 
fusis that  she  had  known  on  Dartmoor,  but  it  was 
beautiful  still,  with  a  new  meaning  in  the  well-cut 
features  and  a  volume  of  expression  in  the  empty 
eyes.  There  was  history  to  read  in  Mary's  face 
for  anyone  experienced  in  physiognomy  before  she 
even  opened  her  lips. 

"  Is  the  room  next  door  to  let,  Mrs.  Thirlston?  " 
she  said,  with  a  little  smile  that  would  have  been  a 
laugh  last  year.  "  I've  come  to  take  it,  as  I  told 
you  I  should  some  day. ' ' 

"  Have  you  left  Block's?  "  said  Mrs.  Thirlston, 
putting  down  her  market-basket  carefully  because 
of  the  luxury  of  eggs  in  it,  and  feeling  glad  that 


WANDERING  FIRES  277 

there  were  four  instead  of  two,  as  might  well  have 
happened. 

"  Yes." 

"  And  the  cinema  stage?  " 

"  No." 

"  What  are  you  doing?  " 

"  I  shall  be  a  free  lance." 

' '  You  will  find  it  hard  work. ' ' 

"  Oh,  I  don't  care!  I  don't  care  for  anything 
much. ' ' 

"  So  bad  as  that?  "  said  Mrs.  Thirlston,  as  she 
moved  quietly  about  the  room,  preparing  a  meal. 
To  her  surprise,  Mary  got  up  and  offered  to  help 
her,  not  too  absorbed  by  her  own  situation  to  re- 
member that  her  hostess  was  old  and  tired.  She 
had  altered  in  more  ways  than  one,  it  seemed. 

"  You  can  have  the  room  next  door — a  girl  left 
it  yesterday,"  said  Mrs.  Thirlston,  as  she  boiled 
eggs  and  made  tea.  '  *  You  had  better  go  down  and 
see  the  people  on  the  ground  floor — they  have  the 
letting  of  it.  Say  that  I  know  you.  But  you  must 
look  at  it  first.  Have  you  any  idea  what  living  in  a 
combined  room  is  like?  It  is  not  so  large  or  so» 
well  ventilated  as  this  even." 

"  It  will  do — so  long  as  I  am  near  you." 

"  Mary,"  said  Mrs.  Thirlston,  raising  herself 
from  her  ministrations  at  the  oil-stove,  and  looking 
at  the  girl  who  was  cutting  bread  and  margarine 
at  the  table,  "  what's  the  matter?  '  Then  she 
caught  herself  up,  and  her  eyes,  as  if  fascinated, 
wandered  to  the  communicating  window  that  was 
now  closed.  Only  two  days  since  a  man's  voice 
had  said  to  another  girl,  "  What's  the  matter, 
dear?  What's  the  matter,  Irene?  '  It  was  al- 
ways the  same  thing  that  was  the  matter  with 
women. 


278  WANDERING  FIEES 

"  I  wanted  to  live  with.  Jeff  Bromley,  as  we 
couldn't  marry,"  said  Mary,  in  a  matter-of-fact 
tone.  "  And  he  wouldn't  have  me.  That's  all." 
She  laid  another  slice  on  the  plate  methodically, 
and  went  on  spreading  margarine. 

"  So  you  left  the  company." 

"  He  went  first.  I  should  have  stayed  if  he 
had  done  so.  I  should  have  fought  his  refusal,  and 
worn  it  down  night  and  day — he  knew  that.  Mrs. 
Thirlston,  do  you  think  I  should  have  won  ?  ' ' 

"  No,  because  he  would  never  have  stayed  to 
be  vanquished.  He  knew  he  dared  not  risk  it. 
Jeff  is  a  man,  Mary. ' ' 

"  He  didn't  seem  to  be  so." 

"  Oh,  my  dear!  women's  experience  of  men  is 
so  much  on  the  weaker  side  that  when  they  are 
strong  we  call  them  demi-gods — or  dummies. ' ' 

11  Demi-gods  don't  feel,  and  dummies  can't." 
The  woman  spoke  in  pain. 

"  He  thought  he  was  doing  the  decent  thing," 
said  Mrs.  Thirlston  slowly.  "  And — perhaps — he 
made  a  blunder.  Well  f  ' ' 

"  I  left  ostensibly  because  there  was  no  part 
for  me  in  the  next  pictures.  At  least,  Mr.  Block 
would  not  promise  me  lead,  and  Cunningham  cut 
me  out  on  purpose.  They  are  having  May  Moon 
back." 

"  She  was  not  with  you  on  Dartmoor?  " 

"  No — she  had  a  baby,"  said  Mary  simply. 
"  Nell  Grey  told  me.  They  were  all  awfully 
shocked.  I  fancied  theatrical  people  thought  noth- 
ing of  immorality. ' ' 

"  They  think  too  much  of  it.  It  is  never  out 
of  their  heads." 

"  It  doesn't  seem  to  matter,  to  me,  unless  it's  a 
big  thing  like  it  was  with  Jeff  and  me.  And  then 
it  matters  less  still." 


WANDERING  FIKES  279 

"  The  middle-class  adapts  itself  to  law,  and  the 
upper  class  adapts  law  to  itself,  that's  all.  What 
did  your  friend  Mrs.  Smythe  think?  " 

"  She  was  just  as  stupid,"  said  Mary  impa- 
tiently. "  Both  of  them  were.  Her  husband  is 
back,  you  know,  and  they  didn't  really  want  any- 
one staying  there,  though  they  would  have  kept 
me.  They  were  awfully  sweet  about  it,  but  I  felt 
an  interloper  after  a  time.  Gladys  wasn't  lonely 
any  more. ' '  Her  voice  broke  a  little  at  last,  with 
self-pity.  She  felt  that  she  was  no  longer  the  in- 
vincible heroine  to  Gladys  Smythe,  and  the  spoilt 
child  in  her  resented  the  alteration.  It  was  she 
who  was  lonely,  not  Gladys.  She  had  not  cried 
when  she  spoke  of  the  real  tragedy  to  her,  the  part- 
ing with  Jeff  Bromley,  but  she  could  cry  over 
Gladys'  defection  because  of  its  treachery  to  her 
egoism. 

"  Come  and  have  tea,  and  then  we  will  look  at 
your  room  and  see  if  you  can  bear  it,"  said  Mrs. 
Thirlston  wisely.  "  It  is  really  roughing  it  this 
time,  Mary." 

11  I  don't  care.  I  would  rather  do  that  than 
go  home !  ' ' 

Mrs.  Thirlston  turned  her  green  eyes  rather 
shrewdly  on  the  altered  face.  She  thought  how 
wonderfully  pretty  Mary  Trefusis  was  going  to 
be  in  all  the  stages  of  her  womanhood,  and  yet 
how  different.  She  could  never  have  a  plain 
period  during  which  she  ' '  went  off  ' '  in  her  looks, 
however  many  tragedies  or  comedies  she  experi- 
enced. 

* '  Have  your  family  offered  to  take  you  back  ?  '  * 
she  said  gravely. 

"  Aunt  Alex  has  written — but  I  shan't  go.  She 
came  back  from  India  last  month. ' ' 

"  You  will  go — but  not  quite  yet,"  said  Mrs. 


280  WANDERING  FIRES 

TMrlston  in  her  heart.  She  pondered  a  minute, 
and  then  her  eyes  happened  to  fall  on  the  window 
between  the  two  rooms. 

"  What  became  of  that  man  you  used  to  talk  of 
— Mr.  Thome?  Do  you  ever  hear  of  him?  "  she 
said  suddenly. 

"  Oh,  yes,  he  writes.  They  all  write  to  me." 
Mary  laughed  a  little,  but  without  any  satisfaction 
or  real  amusement.  "  Major  Durham  wrote  yes- 
terday, and  Nolly  Ogilvie,  and  a  man  named  Sin- 
clair who  saw  my  photograph  at  Eddie's  flat. 
They  were  friends.  He  has  begun  to  write  too." 

"  Is  Mr.  Thome  in  England?  ' 

"  Yes,  at  Upcott.  At  least,  he  wrote  last  from 
there.  I  wish  he  were  in  London,  rather. ' ' 

Mrs.   Thirlston  looked   at   the  communicating 
window  helplessly.    "  Do  you  want  to  see  him?  ' 
she  said. 

"  Eddie  always  understood  me." 

"  Then  it  was  a  pity  you  did  not  stick  to  each 
other." 

"  Why?  " 

' '  You  might  both  of  you  be  less  of  a  menace  to 
other  people." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know.  We  were  bound  to  follow 
wandering  fires. ' ' 

"  Perhaps  you  will  go  back  to  each  other,  after 
all." 

' '  He  always  said  so.  Dear  old  Eddie ! — but  one 
would  have  to  make  a  good  many  allowances." 

"  Isn't  that  more  tolerable  to  you  than  the  demi- 
god or  the  dummy?  " 

' '  It  might  be — if  I  went  back  to  Aunt  Alex.  But 
I  'm  not  going. ' ' 

"  No,  of  course  not.  If  you've  finished  tea  we 
will  go  and  look  at  the  room." 

She  judged  it  diplomatic;  but  Mary  was  too 


WANDERING  FIRES  281 

tired  in  mind  and  body  to  be  further  depressed  by 
her  surroundings.  She  accepted  the  horrible  place 
with  indifference,  the  zinc  washstand,  the  oilcloth 
(it  was  a  furnished  room),  the  narrow  pallet  bed. 
There  was  no  looking-glass — those  who  let  it  had 
found  that  if  they  supplied  one  it  always  dis- 
appeared. Honesty  stopped  short  at  a  looking- 
glass,  however  dingy.  The  girls  who  were  Mrs. 
Thirlston 's  fleeting  neighbours  supplied  their 
own. 

"  You  had  better  see  that  the  door  locks,"  said 
Mrs.  Thirlston,  pausing  on  the  threshold. 

There  was  a  catch  on  the  door.  Mary  released 
it  with  a  little  click,  and  Mrs.  Thirlston  started. 
"  It  works  easily  enough,"  said  Mary.  "  Some- 
body has  oiled  it — look  at  my  hand!  " 

"  The  caretakers  downstairs,  I  suppose,"  said 
Alicia  Thirlston.  She  was  a  magnificent  liar  for 
other  people.  For  herself,  I  fancy  that  she  spoke 
the  unnecessary  truth.  "  Go  and  see  them,  and 
then  you  can  take  possession.  Is  this  basket  all 
your  worldly  possessions?  " 

"  It  was  no  use  bringing  the  rest  until  I  had 
somewhere  to  bring  them." 

The  weeks  which  followed  were  a  phase  in 
Mary's  life  over  which  she  never  learned  to  laugh, 
not  for  their  hardships  but  for  their  disillusion- 
ment. She  had  bragged  so  much  of  being  a  work- 
ing girl  that  when  she  found  she  had  never  been 
so  until  the  present  moment  she  drew  back  ap- 
palled by  her  temerity  in  competing  with  those 
who  really  deserved  the  title.  Gladys  Smythe's 
little  suburban  house  had  been  a  new  experience,  it 
is  true,  but  there  was  no  hardship  in  it.  It  was 
exquisitely  clean  and  ridiculous  in  its  imitation 
luxury.  The  meals  were  regular  and  well  cooked 
and  appeared  upon  the  table  in  a  civilised  manner. 


282  WANDERING  FIRES 

It  was  Gladys  who  worked  hard  to  accomplish 
this,  and  not  Mary.  At  the  studio  she  had  always 
been  a  protegee  of  one  important  person  or  an- 
other, and  the  training  she  received  flattered  her 
vanity.  When  she  was  on  Dartmoor  or  in  the  Mid- 
lands she  had  had  Jeff  Bromley's  strength  and 
manhood  as  a  buffer  between  her  and  the  world  in 
which  she  found  herself.  Latterly  he  had  formed 
the  centre  of  her  universe,  and  even  small  draw- 
backs and  irksome  duties  had  become  of  no  im- 
portance by  reason  of  his  presence.  She  had  only 
played  at  work  after  all.  When  she  stood  up  on 
her  own  feet  and  faced  the  reality,  she  learned  how 
insignificant  she  herself  had  been  in  the  shaping  of 
her  destiny,  and  how  little  she  had  depended  on 
the  individuality  she  thought  she  possessed.  A 
single  day  of  her  new  work  will  suffice  as  an 
example. 

On  the  strength  of  having  been  with  a  big  com- 
pany she  got  daily  work  here  and  there  with 
smaller  firms,  for  which  she  was  paid  fifteen  shill- 
ings or  a  pound.  She  might  make  three  or  four 
pounds  a  week  at  this  rate,  or  only  fifteen  shillings. 
And  it  was  more  often  the  latter,  because  the  big 
parts  were  all  filled  by  the  salaried  casts,  and  she 
was  only  employed  as  a  super.  Mary  had  never 
appreciated  the  miseries  of  the  people  who  played 
"  crowds  "  for  Block's  firm  before,  or  thought 
that  they  had  much  to  put  up  with  beyond  a  pass- 
ing pity  that  was  half  disdain.  Rehearsal  might 
be  called  for  half-past  nine  at  the  other  side  of 
London,  which  necessitated  her  getting  up  at 
seven  (there  was  no  Gladys  to  bring  her  an  early 
cup  of  tea)  and  boiling  a  sleepy  kettle  on  a  Bea- 
trice stove  both  for  the  comfort  of  washing  and 
for  breakfast.  The  rehearsal  might  possibly  be 
of  a  garden  party,  and  in  the  semi-obscurity  of 


WANDERING  FIRES  283 

her  attic  Mary  Trefusis  dressed  in  such  smart 
clothes  as  were  left  to  her  from  a  past  life,  with 
the  feeling  of  someone  who  has  been  up  all  night 
in  evening-dress  and  is  horribly  dissipated.  She 
was  obliged  to  get  her  breakfast  gingerly  for  fear 
of  disaster  to  her  gown,  boiling  an  egg  or  spread- 
ing potted  meat  on  bread-and-margarine.  There 
was  no  time  to  wash  up—that  must  wait  till  the 
evening.  At  half -past  eight  she  stumbled  down 
the  carpetless  flights  of  stairs  and  out  into  the 
street,  having  locked  her  stuffy  room  for  the  day. 
The  spring  was  often  wet  and  cold,  and  it  might 
well  be  that  she  found  a  drizzling  rain  in  the  Ham- 
mersmith Broadway.  With  a  raincoat  over  her 
dreary  finery,  she  struggled  for  standing-room  in 
an  omnibus  or  train,  and  was  dragged  across  Lon- 
don, her  feet  already  wet  in  her  thin  shoes,  to  get 
damper  still  in  changing  from  one  phase  of  loco- 
motion to  another,  until  she  reached  her  destina- 
tion breathless  and  irritable. 

A  cold,  cutting  wind  was  probably  blowing  about 
the  public  gardens  utilised  as  a  background  for  the 
party,  but  wraps  must  come  off,  and  the  supers  be- 
gin to  stroll  about  in  imitation  of  guests  enjoying 
themselves  in  happier  circumstances.  BlowTi 
about  by  the  rough  gale,  damp,  and  almost 
draggled,  Mary  carried  her  fair,  disconsolate  face 
into  many  pictures,  coupled  with  people  she  dis- 
liked and  grouped  with  those  wiio  might  be  really 
offensive  to  her.  Then  there  would  be  a  wearisome 
delay.  The  principals,  who  could  afford  to  be 
wise,  would  not  brave  the  weather  until  the  last 
moment.  The  light  was  not  good  enough — the 
wind  was  too  strong.  The  supers  would  be  kept 
waiting  about  for  some  hours,  thoroughly  chilled 
in  their  thin  dresses  and  forbidden  their  wraps. 
Lunch  must  be  snatched  anyhow;  most  people 


284  WANDERING  FIRES 

brought  their  own,  cake  or  biscuits  in  a  pocket, 
until  the  despised  sandwiches  at  the  studio  seemed 
a  luxury,  though  doled  out  by  Mr.  Cunningham's 
ill-mannered  hands.    The  cast  might  be  dismissed 
at  midday,  or  hurried  back  to  an  indoor  scene  in 
one  of  the  most  up-to-date  studios,  where  weather 
made  no  difference  since  the  lighting  was  all  ar- 
tificial.    But  the  heat  of  the  great  arcs  was  as 
bad,  or  worse,  than  the  sun  on  the  old  glass  roofs 
while  one  was  on  the  stage,  and  the  working  day 
seemed  interminable.    Mary  learnt  the  bitter  les- 
son of  keeping  her  temper  and  civility  to  all  mem- 
bers of  the  cast  during  those  months  of  free-lance 
work;  and  once  she  lost  a  chance  of  a  better  en- 
gagement through  a  careless  snub  to  the  operator, 
not  realising  how  much  power  he  has  in  his  hands. 
For  the  operator,  if  he  chooses,  can  make  an  actor 
or  actress  hideous  on  the  screen  with  wrongly 
arranged  lights  or  focus,  and  distort  a  pretty  face 
into  an  ugly  one  without  betraying  his  own  work. 
Mary  came  to  one  studio  with  the  reputation  of 
being  a  pretty  woman.    When  she  appeared  on  the 
screen  she  was  pronounced  hopelessly  disappoint- 
ing, and  was  not  re-engaged.    Nor  could  she  enter 
a  protest  against  the  operator,  though  she  recog- 
nised, too  late,  that  he  had  taken  an  uncanny  re- 
venge upon  her.    He  could  not  do  her  so  much 
harm  in  the  general  shot — which  is  the  long  shot 
of  the  whole  scene — but  she  had  been  chosen  for  a 
close-up,  and  the  result  told  against  her.    After 
that  experience  she  began  to  feel  a  nervous  qualm 
at  the  sound  of  the  manager's  voice  to  the  elec- 
tricians on  the  rostrums :   ' '  Get  your  spots !  ' '  and 
to  wonder  if  the  overhead  lighting  were  bringing 
out  all  the  defects  in  her.    It  was  no  surprise  to 
her  if  she  departed  to  her  trains  and  omnibuses 
once  more,  to  crawl  across  London  as  best  she 


WANDERING  FIRES  285 

could,   fifteen   shillings   the   richer   and   not   re- 
engaged. 

She  learned  to  climb  up  those  five  flights  of 
stairs  at  Hammersmith  in  the  dusk  of  a  May  even- 
ing, footsore  and  empty  and  utterly  discouraged, 
until  her  beauty  began  to  have  a  tragic  look.  She 
was  hoping  for  a  bigger  engagement,  of  course — 
a  better  part;  and  indeed  she  might  have  got  it, 
having  been  somewhat  starred  at  Block's,  but  that 
she  happened  to  leave  them  at  a  moment  when 
other  firms  were  in  full  swing  with  a  film,  and 
there  was  no  part  for  her.  She  was  unused  to 
saving,  and  came  to  the  room  next  to  Mrs.  Thirl- 
ston's  with  barely  enough  to  pay  a  week's  rent  in 
advance.  Therefore  she  could  not  afford  to  wait, 
and  took  what  work  offered  "  to  fill  up." 

How  tired  she  was  at  night !  Even  for  the  short 
period  she  had  worked  in  munitions  she  had  not 
been  so  tired.  She  did  not  often  make  her  bed. 
It  was  enough  to  throw  the  clothes  back  in  the 
morning  and  to  throw  them  on  at  night.  She 
learned  to  use  one  plate  instead  of  three  to  have 
less  to  wash  up,  and  she  realised  how  much  work 
one  knife  can  do  now  that  there  was  no  one  to  clean 
more  for  her.  On  Sundays  she  meant  to  clean  her 
room,  but  she  soon  learned  to  spend  the  day  in  bed 
rather  than  scrub  the  old  oilcloth  on  her  hands  and 
knees.  And  even  yet  she  was  not  quite  abandoned 
by  her  good  fortune,  because  Mrs.  Thirlston  had 
taken  up  the  task  of  shepherding  Mary  Trefusis 
and  making  the  way  smoother  for  her  feet  as  she 
would  not  have  done  for  other  girls — Irene  Vansit- 
tart,  for  instance — though  she  was  always  kind 
to  them.  But  if  Mary  could  get  home  to  tea  it  was 
welcoming  her  in  Mrs.  Thirlston 's  larger,  fresher 
room ;  if  she  had  no  time  to  do  her  shopping  Mrs. 
Thirlston 's  basket  carried  double;  and  when  she 


286  WANDERING  FIRES 

fell  ill,  as  of  course  she  did  fall  ill  after  a  time, 
there  was  someone  to  look  after  her.  Mary  never 
was  entirely ' '  on  her  own  ' '  after  all,  and  the  most 
grimly  ironic  thing  in  her  destiny  was  that  she 
really  thought  herself  a  singularly  independent 
character,  and  boasted  of  it  all  her  life  despite  the 
revelation  of  this  period.  She  was  never  inde- 
pendent, and  when  other  guardians  of  hers  laid 
down  their  self-appointed  task  with  relief,  her  hus- 
band had  to  take  it  up,  abandoning  his  own  claim 
to  being  a  spoilt  child  with  unconscious  abnegation. 

It  was  in  May  that  Mary  got  a  slight  attack  of 
influenza,  owing  to  wet  clothes  and  insufficient 
food.  She  was  not  bad  enough  at  first  to  go  to 
bed,  but  Mrs.  Thirlston,  hearing  her  cough  through 
the  open  window,  came  in  one  night  with  hot  bot- 
tles and  home-made  remedies,  and  saved  her  from 
pneumonia.  Mary's  face  looked  thinner  on  the  one 
hard  pillow,  and  her  eyes  met  Alicia's  at  last  with 
a  sense  of  defeat. 

"  I  suppose  I  shall  have  to!  "  she  said. 

"Lady  Alex's  letter?  " 

"Yes." 

"  Well,  you've  put  up  a  good  fight." 

* '  Ah !  but  I  meant  to  win — the  good  fight  is  only 
losing,  after  all." 

"  My  dear,  my  dear!  "  said  Mrs.  Thirlston. 
1 1  What  woman  wants  to  struggle  away  her  youth 
and  all  its  chances,  unless  her  happiness  makes  it  a 
fair  exchange?  You  are  fighting  for  nothing, 
Mary.  There 's  no  goal,  even  if  you  win  the  race. ' ' 

* '  No, ' '  said  the  thin  face  on  the  pillow.  * '  There 
is  no  goal.  ...  I  thought  the  light  was  the  home- 
light,  Mrs.  Thirlston — but  it  was  only  a  wandering 
fire." 

"  Poor  little  Mary!  ..." 

11  If  Jeff  had  stuck  to  me  .  .  ." 


WANDERING  FIRES  287 

' '  He  did  his  best.  You  can  only  see  life  through 
your  own  eyes.  Go  back  to  Lady  Alex — and  marry 
Eddie  Thome." 

"  Eddie?  Why  Eddie,  of  all  people  on  earth?  " 
The  large  clear  eyes  got  back  their  old  childish 
curiosity  of  expression  for  the  moment. 

"  Oh,  well,  Major  Durham,  if  you  like — or  the 
Ogilvie  boy — or  this  last  Mr.  Sinclair." 

"  I'll  try,"  said  Mary  simply.  "  It  would  be 
better  to  go  back  to  Aunt  Alex  with  some  sort  of 
settled  future,  if  I  must  go. ' ' 

Mrs.  Thirlston  was  silent,  with  a  sense  of  dis- 
may for  what  she  had  done.  It  was  unsafe  to  put 
ideas  into  Mary's  head,  however  idle  they  might 
seem  to  the  speaker.  When  her  patient  was  out 
and  about  again  she  was  amused  and  rather  stag- 
gered to  find  that  social  engagements  sandwiched 
themselves  in  between  spasms  of  film  work,  and 
that  Mary  was  lunching  and  dining  out  so  far  as 
her  dwindling  wardrobe  allowed  her.  It  fed  her 
better,  at  any  rate,  and  Alicia  consoled  herself 
when  she  saw  the  girl  less  hollow-eyed  and  ex- 
hausted. But  at  the  end  of  another  week  or  so  the 
young  lady  walked  into  her  room  and  flung  her 
slip-coat  on  to  the  old  table  with  a  whirl  that  made 
the  startled  sparrows  on  the  window-sill  whirr 
upwards  in  a  bevy  of  wings.  There  was  an  air  of 
finality  about  Mary's  action. 

"  Well,  I've  tried — and  I  can't,"  she  said. 
"  I  've  done  with  it.  I  '11  go  back  to  Aunt  Alex,  if 
I  must,  but  I  won't  see  any  of  them  again." 

"  Have  all  those  men  I  mentioned  proposed  to 
you,  Mary?  " 

"  Two  of  them  have.  Johnnie  Sinclair  didn't, 
because  he  either  couldn't  or  thought  he'd  like  the 
other  way  best.  I  respected  him  the  most  of  the 
three,  I  think." 


288  WANDEEING  FIRES 

"  And  yet  you  said  no." 

"  Oh,  I  didn't  want  him !  How  easy  it  is  to  say 
no,  when  you  -have  no  inclination  to  say  yes! 
Eddie  told  me  that  long  ago.  There 's  no  virtue  in 
it." 

' '  So  Mr.  Sinclair  is  out  of  it.   And  the  others  ?  ' ' 

"  Durham  was  in  earnest,  and — I  hated  it. 
Ogilvie  ran  over  like  ginger-ale  in  hot  weather, 
and  I  hated  that  more.  I  had  led  them  on,  too. 
I'm  a  beast." 

"  No,  my  dear,  a  girl." 

"  Well,  do  let's  have  tea,  anyway,  Mrs.  Thirl- 
ston. The  one  thing  I  regret  is  that  they  will  none 
of  them  feed  me  any  more.  I  did  enjoy  those 
spreads!  If  I  go  back  to  Aunt  Alex  I  shall  tell 
her  it's  because  she  has  a  cook — a  good  cook." 

"  When  you  go  back  to  Lady  Alex,"  said  Mrs. 
Thirlston,  serenely  altering  the  conjunction  to  the 
adverb,  "  you  will  enjoy  it  all  the  more  for  your 
eggs  and  fish  cooked  on  the  oil-stove.  Privation 
has  no  value  but  that  of  shadows  in  a  picture.  It 
throws  up  the  high  lights." 

"  I  have  not  gone  back  yet!  "  said  Mary,  with 
a  struggle  for  her  paraded  emancipation.  "  If  the 
Prodigal  had  been  a  woman  and  not  a  man,  I  doubt 
whether  he  would  have  caved  in  so  easily." 

1  i  Even  for  the  dinners  f  ' ' 

"  Oh,  well,  the  fatted  calf  smells  good,  while  you 
are  still  amongst  the  husks.  But  there  are  so 
many  other  things " 

"  Mary,"  said  Alicia  Thirlston  seriously,  "  can 
you  face  failure?  " 

"  I  am  facing  it !  "  said  the  girl  resentfully. 

"  No,  you  are  not — you  are  afraid,  even  now. 
You  want  to  go  home  just  to  avoid  it,  because  you 
know  that  you  will  never  be  a  failure  in  your  own 


PANDERING  FIRES  289 

world.  But  eould  you  live  with  it — as  I  have 
done!  " 

Mary's  eyes  quickened  with  a  new  understand- 
ing. "  Have  you  lived  with  it,  Mrs.  Thirlston?  " 

"  Yes,  my  dear.  I  have  been  a  failure,  both 
socially  and  as  a  worker.  I  belonged  to  both 
worlds,  and  in  neither  was  I  really  a  success, 
though  my  needs  being  small  I  have  not  shown  it 
overmuch.  As  a  younger  woman  it  did  not  matter, 
because  there  was  always  the  future — I  might  do 
something  yet,  some  day;  but  now  that  I  am  old, 
and  weary,  and  uninteresting,  you  can  take  me  as 
a  warning." 

Mary  looked  straight  into  the  plain,  aged  face, 
and  shuddered.  She  knew  that  she  would  never 
look  like  Alicia  Thirlston,  even  at  seventy ;  but  she 
might  be  even  worse — an  old  woman  fluttering  the 
ghost  of  her  beauty  in  the  face  of  her  public,  laugh- 
able because  of  her  effort  to  hide  the  failure  of 
which  her  friend  spoke.  There  was  a  safeguard 
in  Mrs.  Thirlston 's  very  unimportance;  she  was  so 
ordinary  that  she  missed  attention.  But  Mary 
would  not  slip  into  the  background  so  easily — she 
would  excite  a  shocked  pity  if  nothing  more.  In 
a  flash  of  comprehension  she  saw  that  it  was  intol- 
erable. She  could  not  live  with  failure  as  Alicia 
Thirlston  did. 

The  warning  haunted  her,  though  she  did  not 
realise  till  long  afterwards  that  Mrs.  Thirlston 
had  made  a  sacrifice  in  laying  bare  her  own  defi- 
ciencies. It  had  been  an  ugly  moment  of  self-rev- 
elation, and  Alicia  was  a  sensitive  woman.  But 
someone  was  bound  to  be  sacrificed  to  Mary  Tre- 
fusis,  that  she  might  even  read  in  a  glass  darkly, 
unconscious  of  her  victims.  Her  dwindling  re- 
sources, the  discomforts  of  her  life  that  were  al- 


290  WANDERING  FIRES 

most  privations,  all  pointed  the  way  back  to  Lady 
Alex;  and  the  spectre  that  Miss  Thirlston  had 
raised  was  the  climax.  She  could  not  live  with 
failure.  It  was  brought  home  to  her  in  odd  mo- 
ments, by  things  that  seemed  immaterial,  and  yet 
were  the  leverage  that  moved  the  whole  weight  of 
her  will  and  personality. 

She  had  been  to  the  Army  and  Navy  Stores  one 
afternoon  from  former  habit,  forgetting  that  it 
would  be  wiser  to  shop  at  Hammersmith  with  her 
present  resources.  The  excursion  yielded  nothing 
but  the  prohibition  of  a  light  purse  and  a  flood  of 
memories.  She  had  not  been  in  the  crowded,  de- 
corous building  since  the  day  when  she  was  stay- 
ing at  Brown's  last  July,  and  hailed  Sinclair's  car, 
afterwards  helping  Ogilvie  to  buy  a  muff  -chain 
that  he  was  still  cherishing  as  a  souvenir  of  her. 
The  ghost  of  her  old  careless  smile  crossed  Mary's 
lips  at  the  memory.  She  did  not  care  for  such  ad- 
ventures now,  the  savour  was  somehow  out  of 
them.  She  seemed  to  have  grown  many  years 
older  in  the  past  months,  like  a  child  who  looks 
back  to  the  dolls  of  its  last  birthday  from  the 
standard  of  more  complicated  toys.  It  occurred 
to  her  that  she  had  secretly  looked  down  on  Robin 
Ward  and  Ethel  Kerr  for  making  friends  with  men 
at  dancing-classes  and  being  taken  out  by  them 
later  on,  and  that  her  mental  attitude  was  hardly 
justified  by  her  own  adventures.  Major  Durham 
—Sinclair — Nolly  Ogilvie — in  what  way  did  her 
introduction  to  them  differ  from  Robin's  or 
Ethel's!  She  recognised  that  the  difference  had 
seemed  to  her  to  lie  between  herself  and  these 
girls  rather  than  in  their  experiences,  and  the  un- 
comfortable truth  frowned  at  her.  Suppose  she 
accepted  Lady  Alex's  offer  and  returned  to  the 
old  conditions  of  her  life,  would  she  still  assert 


[WANDERING  FIRES  291 

her  independence  by  such  escapades  as  had  seemed 
to  her  justifiable  or  amusing  before  her  father's 
death?  The  past  year  had  certainly  altered  her 
outlook  on  life,  if  not  her  temperament.  She  felt 
that  she  wanted  to  assert  herself  in  other  ways, 
less  childish  and  more  serious,  but  that  her  aunt's 
unconscious  tyranny  would  be  no  more  tolerable. 
Yet  the  lesson  taught  through  Alicia  Thirlston, 
and  impressed  even  by  the  morning's  vain  quest 
for  a  market  within  her  means,  made  her  realise 
that  there  was  no  other  way  out  of  her  growing 
difficulties — she  would  have  to  go  home  like  a 
naughty  child  and  admit  that  her  independence 
was  a  failure.  For  the  moment  she  almost  hated 
the  dearly-prized  fetish  of  her  Own  Way  for  the 
pass  to  which  it  had  brought  her. 

As  she  ran  down  the  steps  of  the  Stores  and 
turned  up  Victoria  Street  towards  the  Abbey  she 
found  herself  walking  behind  a  man  in  a  light 
spring  suit,  with  one  of  the  soft  drab  hats  that 
the  season  had  recently  evolved  as  the  latest 
fashion.  She  was  so  immediately  behind  him  that 
she  could  see  nothing  but  the  rather  long  flat 
back,  the  slope  of  his  shoulders,  and  the  nape  of 
his  neck;  but  she  would  have  known  that  walk 
amongst  a  score  of  others.  It  was  quick  as  well 
as  light  and  supple,  for  he  was  going  somewhere 
with  intent.  Mary  had  almost  to  run  a  few  steps 
to  bring  her  close  enough  to  his  shoulder  for  her 
low  voice  to  reach  him. 

"  Eddie!  " 

Thorne  checked  and  turned  round  so  quickly 
that  it  suggested  an  undesired  encounter,  but  as 
his  eyes  met  hers  his  face  cleared.  He  looked  older 
and  thinner  and  less  boyish,  as  she  saw  at  once; 
the  past  year  had  not  let  him  off  scathless  any 
more  than  it  had  her.  But  he  was  not  dissipated 


292  WANDERING  FIRES 

in  appearance,  whatever  lie  might  have  been 
doing;  the  athletic  training  of  his  whole  life  had 
stood  him  in  good  stead,  and  habits  of  physical 
exercise  had  kept  him  in  the  same  fine  condition 
that  she  remembered.  He  raised  the  soft  hat  (it 
suited  him,  she  noticed.  That  was  so  like  Eddie! 
He  never  followed  a  fashion  if  it  did  not,  and  was 
in  consequence  a  well-dressed  man  without  being 
too  smart),  and  shook  hands  with  her  with  a  kind, 
close  pressure. 

"  Where  have  you  tumbled  from?  "  he  said, 
almost  eagerly.  "  Are  you  in  town  now?  Let's 
walk  on  and  then  we  can  talk. ' ' 

"  I  don't  think  I'm  fit  to  walk  with  you,"  said 
Mary,  with  an  accession  of  her  most  off-hand  man- 
ner. ' '  I  just  discovered  this  morning  how  shabby 
I  am,  and  that  I  can't  afford  to  buy  more  clothes." 
There  was  the  faintest  bitterness  in  her  tone,  not 
for  the  trivial  contrast  between  his  air  of  well- 
being  and  her  own  sense  of  a  hateful  disadvantage, 
but  for  all  it  conveyed.  She  felt  shabby  in  her 
experiences  and  in  her  failure  rather  than  in  her 
person.  She  saw  him  glance  at  her  quickly  and 
smile  and  frown  together  in  the  old  fashion. 

"  Don't  be  silly !  "  he  said,  drawling  a  little  with 
the  added  emphasis.  "  Don't  you  think  I  want  to 
walk  with  the  prettiest  girl  in  London  whatever 
she  wears?  What's  the  matter  with  you,  Molly? 
Are  you  having  a  down?  " 

"I'm  afraid  I'm  down  and  out,"  said  Mary, 
with  a  faint  laugh.  "  I  can't  tell  you  everything 
at  once,  Eddie — there's  such  a  lot.  But  Aunt 
Alex  has  written  me  that  they've  scraped  some- 
thing out  of  the  mess  of  father's  affairs,  and  she 
will  have  me  back  if  I  like  to  go.  I'm  afraid  I 
shall  have  to."  The  bitten  underlip  betrayed  how 
galling  that  admission  was. 


WANDERING  FIRES  293 

"  Much  better,"  said  Thorne  decidedly. 
"  You've  had  your  fling,  and  you'll  enjoy  a  good 
time  all  the  more  after  a  bit  of  roughing  it.  Was  it 
roughing  it,  Molly?  '  His  voice  changed,  and  was 
very  tender  as  to  a  punished  child.  She  moved 
closer  to  him  instinctively,  craving  for  the  sym- 
pathy. 

11  I  suppose  it  was  a  bit  rough.  I  didn't  notice 
it  at  first,  I  was  so  keen  on  being  on  my  own. ' ' 

"  The  cinema  show  wasn't  a  success,  then?  " 

11  Oh,  yes,  it  was,  in  a  way.  But  I'm  not  so  used 
to  managing  as  the  other  girls,  I  suppose."  The 
humiliating  truth  was  dragged  out  of  her.  * '  And 
then,  when  I  left  Block's — some  months  ago — I 
took  up  piece-work — so  much  a  day  at  any  studio, 
and  sometimes  you  seem  to  make  a  lot,  and  then 
it's  nothing.  I  never  managed  to  save  up  to  pay 
you  back  what  you  lent  me.  I  can  now,  if  I  go  back 
to  Aunt  Alex."  The  uneasy  sense  of  obligation 
was  as  a  ghost  that  looked  at  her  with  Jefferson 
Bromley's  eyes.  It  was  he  who  had  kept  the  debt 
before  her  honesty,  or,  without  any  intention  of 
taking  advantage  of  Thome's  generosity,  she 
might  never  have  troubled  to  remember  it  at  all. 
Bromley's  creed  was  different  to  her  somewhat 
lax  morality,  and  she  had  never  been  able  to  forget 
it,  with  a  vague  sense  of  shame. 

"  Look  here,"  Thorne  said  plainly,  "  if  you  re- 
fer to  that  again  I  won't  speak  to  you  at  all.  My 
dear  thing,  can 't  I  lend  to  a  pal  who  is  up  against 
it  without  all  this  bother  about  repayment?  I 
don't  even  remember  what  it  was,  and  I  don't  want 
to.  If  you  had  sent  it  back  I  should  only  have 
blown  the  lot  at  bridge  or  racing." 

"  I  must  pay  you  back  though,"  said  Mary, 
more  as  if  she  said  it  to  Bromley's  memory  than 
to  the  man  at  her  side.  ' '  But  it 's  awfully  decent 


294  WANDERING  FIRES 

of  you  to  let  it  run  on.  ,  Since  I've  worked  for  the 
bread  I  put  into  my  mouth  I've  looked  at  a  loan 
from  another  standpoint.  Why  are  we  stopping? 
Are  you  going  in  here?  " 

Thorne  had  suddenly  paused  before  a  narrow 
doorway  with  swing-glass  doors  and  a  brass  plate 
on  the  coping-stone.  It  was  bounded  on  either 
hand  by  business  premises,  but  it  was  obviously 
a  private  block  itself.  He  looked  at  Mary  half  un- 
certainly, half  as  if  calculating  an  unknown  quan- 
tity. 

'  l  I  have  a  service  flat  here, ' '  he  said.  * l  I  took  it 
off  another  fellow  for  six  months,  while  he  went  to 
America  on  a  Government  job.  Will  you  come  in 
and  have  a  talk?  I  don't  see  that  it  can  matter — 
except  that  the  lift-boy  will  see  you." 

"  I  don't  mind — if  you  don't." 

Her  hesitation  was,  curiously  enough,  for  him 
rather  than  herself.  She  knew  nothing  of  Eddie's 
life  now  beyond  the  divorce,  but  he  might  have 
formed  other  ties — he  might  be  going  to  venture 
on  marriage  again — and  she  had  no  wish  to  do  him 
a  bad  turn.  He  did  not  answer  in  words,  but, 
pushing  back  the  glass  door,  drew  her  gently  past 
him  and  along  a  carpeted  entrance  to  the  lift, 
which  took  them  up  to  the  second  floor.  Here  there 
were  three  or  four  bachelor  flats,  each  with  its 
own  private  door,  and  furnished  alike  in  a  dull 
crimson  that  Mary  liked — soft  pile  carpets,  red 
leather  chairs,  a  glimpse  of  a  bedroom  as  they 
passed  the  open  door,  with  a  crimson  silk  cover- 
ing to  the  bed  and  curtains  of  the  same  shade.  It 
was  too  subdued  to  be  monotonous.  They  went 
into  the  dining-room,  and  were  greeted  with  po- 
liteness by  a  small  white  terrier  as  Thorne  pushed 
forward  one  of  the  deep  chairs  for  her.  Mary 
knew  Chit,  and  he  knew  her.  As  she  silently 


WANDERING  FIEES  295 

petted  the  dog  she  looked  round  her  with  a  sharp 
remembrance  of  the  shabby  sitting-room  in  Koe- 
hampton  where  she  had  stood  one  sunny  evening 
in  early  May  with  Bromley.  The  contrast  to  her 
present  surroundings  seemed  the  dividing-line  be- 
tween that  real,  vivid  life  and  the  one  to  which 
she  knew  now  that  she  was  going  back — real,  also, 
in  its  very  artificiality. 

11  You  seem  pretty  comfortable  here,"  she  said 
quietly,  rubbing  Chit's  rough  white  chest  to  his 
infinite  content.  He  never  made  any  secret  of  his 
opinion  of  the  women  who  invaded  his  master's 
life  and  his  own.  He  had  pronounced  Petrova 
impossible  on  a  first  acquaintance,  but  Eddie 
would  not  heed.  He  had  said  equally  plainly  that 
Mary  Trefusis  was  a  desirable  person  whenever 
he  had  been  allowed  at  KestawThile. 

"  Yes,  these  flats  are  a  blessing.  You  get  ser- 
vice, and  meals  when  you  want  'em,  and  no  bother. 
It's  ideal  for  a  bachelor — though  some  of  the 
larger  flats  below  have  got  married  people  in 
them,  too." 

"  You're  still  a  bachelor,  Eddie?  " 

"  Yes."  He  spoke  curtly,  and  she  thought  he 
was  going  to  close  the  subject,  when  he  added  in 
a  lower  voice:  "  I've  made  a  failure  too,  you 
see." 

"  Eddie,  do  you  remember  telling  me  that  I 
should  follow  wandering  fires?  * 

"  Did  I?  "  He  turned  to  her  with  one  of  his 
quick  movements  and  looked  hard  at  the  young 
face,  almost  stern  in  its  gravity,  if  such  a  thing 
could  be  with  Mary's  mobile  loveliness.  "  Well! 
Did  you?  "  he  said. 

"  Yes." 

"  Do  JOM  want  to  tell  me  anything,  Molly?  You 
said  once  that  you  wondered  if  you  could!  " 


296  WANDERING  FIRES 

He  stooped  and  framed  her  face  in  his  two 
hands,  looking  down  into  her  eyes  that  were  no 
longer  the  eyes  of  a  curious  child.  Perhaps  he 
thought  that  he  was  helping  her  to  confession. 
The  tragedy  seemed  to  her  that  she  had  nothing 
to  confess. 

* '  I  could  have  told  you,  if  I  had  had  anything 
to  tell."  She  looked  back  at  him  with  a  resent- 
ment that  convinced  him  as  no  assertion  would 
have  done.  "  I  offered  myself  to  a  man — and  he 
wouldn't  have  me!  " 

"  "Why?  " 

"  He  was  married.  I  wanted  to  live  with  him. 
He  refused." 

Thorne  was  stroking  her  cheek  gently ;  it  flushed 
angrily  as  she  spoke,  as  if  the  struggle  and  the 
pain  surged  back  over  her  again.  Unlikely  as  her 
statement  seemed  to  him,  from  his  own  experience 
or  other  men's,  he  saw  that  it  was  true.  Perhaps 
he  marvelled,  but  he  had  to  accept  it. 

"  What  was  his  reason?  "  he  asked  half  ab- 
sently. He  was  aware  anew  of  the  length  of 
Mary's  eyelashes,  her  delicately-drawn  brows,  the 
lifted  upper  lip,  and  despite  all  his  acquired  cyni- 
cism it  quickened  his  blood  a  little.  She  was  again 
11  the  loveliest  thing  he  ever  saw,"  though  he  had 
been  deeply  in  love  with  a  very  different  woman, 
had  had  several  affairs  since,  and  had  never 
even  kissed  Mary  Trefusis  save  that  once  at  Roe- 
hampton.  Yet  he  was  ardently  aware  of  her 
beauty,  as  he  had  been  then,  and  her  reply  struck 
him  as  the  more  incongruous  for  his  own  sensa- 
tions. 

"  He  said  he  loved  me.  I  suppose  he  did.  He 
wanted  to  leave  me  free  to  marry — to  have  a  home, 
and  a  husband,  and  children,  that  I  didn't  want. 
I  wanted  him.  He  forced  a  future  on  me  in  ex- 


WANDERING  FIRES  297 

change  for  the  present.  But  it's  the  present  that 
matters." 

"  Yes !  "  said  Thome  blankly.  He  felt  suddenly 
that  Mary  and  he  understood  each  other,  and  that 
people  like  this  man  of  hers  and  Petrova  were  too 
generous  in  guarding  them  against  themselves, 
Petrova  had  cut  the  tangle  of  their  marriage  ' '  to 
give  them  both  another  chance."  He  had  not 
wanted  chances.  Mary  had  suffered  from  the 
same  anxious  forethought. 

"  Did  you  care  for  him — very  much?  "  he  said, 
out  of  his  own  pain.  It  had  the  quality  of  a  child 's 
question,  and  there  wras  something  of  the  hurt 
child  in  his  manner  that  touched  Mary.  She  was 
not  so  selfish  as  a  year  since,  and  her  intuition  had 
been  quickened. 

"  It  was  all  the  best  of  me,"  she  said.  "  At 
least,  it  was  all  the  deepest.  I  shall  go  back  to 
the  old  standards,  and  the  usual  give  and  take  of 
our  life — you  know.  But  I  don't  think  I  shall  ever 
feel  like  that  again. ' '  She  looked  up  at  him  a  little 
curiously,  almost  with  diffidence.  He  had  turned 
away  from  her  and  was  fingering  the  solid  bronzes 
on  the  mantelpiece.  He  looked  young,  and  full  of 
life,  and  smart  in  his  light  suit;  but  his  face  was 
not  young  at  the  moment.  In  the  pause  his  dog 
sniffed  mournfully,  as  if  his  sixth  sense  with  re- 
gard to  his  master  made  him  aware  of  Petrova 's 
shadow.  Perhaps  Mary  was  aware  of  it  too. 

"  Eddie,"  she  said  breathlessly,  "  we've  both 
been  hard  hit.  ...  I  wish  you'd  marry  me.  If  I 
have  to  go  back  to  Aunt  Alex  it  would  be  so  much 
more  bearable  if  it  wasn't  forever." 

He  glanced  at  her  quickly,  as  if  incredulous, 
with  the  ghost  of  an  old  merriment  in  his  eyes. 
"  This  is  so  sudden!  "  he  said  demurely.  "  Are 
you  serious,  Molly?  I've  often  been  proposed  to, 


298  WANDERING  FIRES 

of  course,  but  there  has  generally  been  more  to 
lead  up  to  it!  " 

Mary  laughed  too,  a  little  recklessly.  "  I  do 
mean  it,"  she  said.  "  I  couldn't  risk  it  with  an- 
other man,  but  I  believe  I  could  with  you.  Oh, 
Eddie,  do  let's  get  married  and  do  as  we  like !  " 

This  was  not  Thome's  actual  view  of  matri- 
mony, as  he  had  proved  already.  That  he  should 
marry  and  do  as  he  liked  was  a- sine  qua  non;  that 
the  girl  he  married  should  take  her  obligations 
more  seriously  was  the  condition  that  Petrova  had 
so  resented.  But  he  was  as  usual  the  victim  of 
his  own  impulse.  Mary  had  left  her  chair  and 
was  standing  beside  him  in  her  eager,  breathing 
loveliness,  quite  uncalculating,  however,  upon  its 
effect.  She  wanted  a  renewal  of  her  liberty  under 
another  form,  and  she  saw  it  in  the  man  before 
her.  Moreover,  the  gambling  spirit  of  the  offer 
had  taken  her  fancy,  and  she  was  ready  to  risk 
herself  and  Eddie  Thorne  for  the  humour  of  the 
moment — the  future  for  the  present,  as  she  said. 
The  temptation  to  Thorne  lay  in  the  fact  that  he 
thought  he  did  not  care — he  had  so  resented  the 
unusuaA  suffering  forced  upon  him  that  he  con- 
cluded he  never  should  care  any  more,  just  as 
Mary  had  said  of  herself.  And  here  was  a  girl 
of  whom  he  had  really  been  fond  in  his  lighter 
fashion,  and  to  whom  he  could  do  a  good  turn, 
without  much  damage  to  himself  either  way.  Let 
her  have  him,  since  she  asked  for  it !  He  did  not 
realise  that  the  fact  that  Mary  was  present,  within 
a  foot  of  him,  was  a  very  potent  factor  too.  To 
Thorne,  the  person  in  the  immediate  vicinity  was 
the  one  most  in  his  thoughts  and  most  likely  to 
influence  him.  He  had  been  perfectly  honest  when 
he  said  once  that  out  of  sight  was  out  of  mind  with 
him.  Mary  was  not  out  of  sight  at  the  present  mo- 


WANDERING  FIRES  299 

ment,  she  had  reinstated  herself  in  his  sphere  of 
vision,  and  he  was  beginning  to  respond  to  her 
personality  again. 

''Are  you  serious,  Molly?  Do  you  really  want 
me  to  marry  you  ?  ' ' 

He  took  her  by  the  shoulders  and  held  her  be- 
fore him,  looking  down  into  her  face  with  a  more 
personal  interest.  He  was  a  little  remorseful  to 
feel  how  much  thinner  she  was,  and  to  miss  the 
merry,  upward  curve  to  her  pretty  mouth.  With 
a  man's  naive  assurance,  he  promised  himself 
that  he  would  make  up  to  her  for  what  she  had 
gone  through,  and  pet  her  more  than  a  little  to 
secure  a  balance  that  was  beyond  his  readjusting. 

Mary  raised  her  linked  hands  and  laid  them 
against  his  breast.  The  movement  had  something 
of  confidence  and  affection  in  it,  and  yet  it  held 
him  safely  at  a  little  distance.  She  had  forgotten 
how  expressive  his  eyes  were,  and  how  easily  they 
altered  to  a  most  unhallowed  emotion.  It  did  not 
warn  her,  because  she  did  not  care,  but  she  was 
vaguely  aware  that  in  spite  of  wandering  fires  he 
was  capable  of  lighting  a  blaze  nearer  at  hand  that 
might  become  unmanageable. 

"  Yes,  I  do,  Eddie,"  she  said  desperately. 
* '  And  you  're  the  only  man  I  could  stick  as  a  hus- 
band." 

"  Then  I'll  take  you,"  said  Thorne,  with  brief 
decision.  He  slipped  his  arms  from  her  shoulders 
to  her  waist,  but  found  those  slight  hands  on  his 
breast  held  her  just  beyond  reach.  "  Well?  "  he 
said  suspiciously. 

"  We've  nothing  to  give  each  other — like  that. 
We're  not  in  love,"  she  said  more  gravely.  "  I 
don't  want  to  marry  you  under  false  pretences. 
I'm  fond  of  you — I  think  I  shall  be  very  fond  of 
you. ' '  Her  eyes  opened  wider  with  a  puzzled  rev- 


300  WANDERING  FIRES 

elation.  "  You're  very  lovable,  Eddie.  But  I 
don't  want  you  to  think " 

"  I  don't  want  you  to  think,"  he  interrupted. 
"  I  want  you  to  feel."  The  pressure  on  her  waist 
tightened  so  that  her  caressing  touch  on  his  breast 
must  be  absolute  resistance  or  give  way.  She  felt 
the  ominous  strength  in  his  arms,  and  with  a  secret 
panic  put  her  hands  back  to  drag  them  apart ;  but 
her  hands  closing  on  his  muscles  paralysed  her 
with  a  revelation  of  what  athletics  will  do  for  a 
man.  They  felt  like  flexible  steel,  as  hard  as  the 
tempered  metal,  and  the  horrible  part  was  that 
they  were  alive.  Thorne  was  so  deceptive  in  his 
appearance  that  she  would  have  granted  him 
swiftness  or  suppleness,  or  grace,  rather  than  that 
blatant  strength.  She  could  not  move  his  arms 
one  inch,  and  she  went  headlong  against  him  in 
consequence,  her  resistance  being  all  at  once  with- 
drawn, and  heard  him  laugh.  Mary  flushed  storm- 
ily,  as  much  for  the  dance  in  his  eyes  as  for  the 
embrace,  and  flung  her  head  aside  so  that  his  kiss 
fell  harmlessly  on  her  warm  cheek. 

"  It  seems  disloyal!  "  she  stammered  in  dis- 
tress. "  For  us  both  ..." 

He  released  her  quickly  enough  then,  almost 
pushed  her  from  him  as  if  she  had  struck  him,  and 
his  voice  was  again  that  of  the  hurt  child  that 
touched  her  so.  "  You  might  have  let  me  for- 
get! "  he  said.  "  You  say  you've  cared  for  some- 
one. If  you  cared — like  that — you  wouldn't  make 
mistakes.  I'm  not  offering  you  what  I  gave  her. 
I  couldn't.  But  I  can't  talk  about  that.  ...  I 
want  to  forget. ' ' 

His  eyes  had  suddenly  grown  dark.  She  did  not 
know  if  they  were  wet — it  seemed  impossible! — 
but  the  dance  in  them  had  gone  out.  She  realised 
that  if  he  had  looked  at  her  with  such  eyes  she 


WANDERING  FIRES  301 

could  not  have  met  them  indifferently,  and  though 
he  might  never  do  so,  her  heart  quickened  from 
its  level,  healthy  stroke,  so  that  even  her  breast 
grew  warm  with  the  rush  of  blood.  Strangely 
enough,  she  loved  him  for  his  love  for  another 
woman. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

MARY  TREFUSIS  stood  at  the  window  and 
looked  out  over  a  rollicking  expanse  of  sea 
that  filled  the  horizon  from  Hove  beach  to 
Worthing.  The  window  faced  south-west,  and 
swept  round  the  corner  of  the  block  of  flats,  so 
that  the  world  looked  all  sea  and  sky,  with  an  im- 
material prospect  of  the  parade  immediately  be- 
low if  one  chose  to  look  down,  which  the  girl  was 
not  doing.  Her  large  eyes  under  the  fringed  lids 
were  almost  as  empty  of  expression  as  they  had 
been  a  year  ago,  but  she  looked  older  because  of 
the  determination  in  her  face.  Mary  had  always 
been  self-willed,  but  it  had.  been  the  wind's  will, 
incalculable,  blowing  where  it  listed.  Now  it  was 
the  will  of  combined  force,  like  some  element  har- 
nessed to  a  purpose. 

She  was  exquisitely  dressed  in  well-cut  clothes 
and  dark  furs  that  made  her  fair  face  fairer  still, 
and  she  was  so  little  conscious  of  them  that  it 
seemed  impossible  that  she  could  ever  have  gone 
shabby.  Yet  the  amused  smile  on  her  lips  at  the 
moment  was  due  to  a  memory  of  her  appearance 
when  she  capitulated  to  Lady  Alex  and  her  well- 
run  flat,  and  came  down  to  Brighton  in  June.  Her 
aunt's  expression  had  been  more  illuminating  than 
any  mirror.  Mary  laughed  outright  a  small, 
amused  laugh  that  had  no  bitterness  in  it,  but  a 
new  and  devastating  knowledge  of  life.  She  had 
slipped  so  easily  back  into  the  old  grooves  that 

302 


WANDERING  FIEES  303 

she  seemed  to  bring  no  experience  with  her  gained 
from  the  past  year  of  her  life.  But  the  experience 
went  deeper  than  the  fair  mask  of  her  smooth 
flesh.  Then  her  eyes  fell  idly  on  her  hand  resting 
against  the  bright  window,  and  the  broken  fire  of 
diamonds  on  her  third  finger — Eddie's  diamonds 
— catching  the  October  sunlight  like  fireworks. 
She  was  turning  her  hand  childishly  to  make  them 
flash  when  Lady  Alex  entered  the  room. 

"  My  dear,  what  do  you  think?  "  she  said,  and 
her  manner  was  more  vital  and  eager  of  life  than 
Mary's  own.  "  Curtis  has  just  told  me — she  saw 
it  advertised.  The  picture  at  the  Palladium  is  one 
of  yours!  " 

"  No!  "  Mary  was  quite  as  amused  as  her 
aunt,  if  less  excited.  It  was  characteristic  of  Lady 
Alex  that  after  sweeping  condemnation,  after  a 
storm  of  rage,  she  should  have  swung  round  in 
her  mental  attitude  to  find  a  childish  pleasure  in 
seeing  her  niece  on  the  screen.  Lady  Alex  loved 
the  cinemas.  She  always  went  on  Sunday  evening 
and  took  a  party  with  her.  The  vestibule  of  the 
Palladium  knew  her  as  well  as  any  bridge  club, 
and  the  officials  sympathetically  informed  her 
when  there  was  something  specially  good  on  the 
week's  bill. 

"  Which  is  it?  "  said  Mary  with  a  laugh.    "  I 

have  been  in  quite  a  lot,  what  with  Block's  and 

the  more  modern  firms.    You'll  shriek  at  me,  I 

» expect,  Aunt  Alex.     My  hands  and  arms  were 

awful  at  first !  ' ' 

"I'm  simply  dying  to  see  you.  Come  along — 
we  must  hurry.  I  hope  the  Laycocks  won't  be 
late.  Is  Carter  there?  " 

"  Yes,  the  car's  been  waiting  for  some  time." 

Mary  lifted  the  sables  that  Lady  Alex  had 
thrown  down  on  the  table  and  swun;r  them  over 


304  WANDERING  FIRES 

her  aunt's  shoulders  with  critical  appreciation. 
There  was  no  one  quite  like.  Lady  Alex  in  Hove 
or  anywhere  else.  As  the  car  bowled  smoothly 
past  the  Baths  and  on  to  Prince's,  going  east, 
every  person  strolling  within  sight  turned  their 
heads  and  looked,  not  so  much  at  the  girl,  pretty 
as  she  was,  as  at  the  strange  woman  with  silver 
hair  and  sea-blue  eyes  and  the  skin  of  a  young 
child.  She  was  so  beautiful  that  she  frightened 
people  a  little,  but  her  niece  never  failed  to  admire 
her  even  when  a  storm  was  up  between  their 
clashing  wills. 

"  I  think  this  is  so  thrilling!  Curtis  was  nearly 
breathless  when  she  told  me,"  said  Lady  Alex — 
Curtis  was  her  maid.  "  What  a  chance  that  one 
of  your  pictures  should  be  here  just  now!  Has 
Eddie  seen  it — any  of  them?  " 

"  Not  yet." 

"  I  suppose  he  won't  mind,  Mary?  "  A  sudden 
teasing  smile  lit  the  wonderful  opal  of  Lady  Alex's 
eyes.  "  Will  it  be  the  end  of  all  things  between 
you  ?  I  heartily  hope  it  may !  ' 

"  I  really  don't  know  until  I  see  what  picture  it 
is,"  said  Mary  indifferently.  "  But  I  thought  you 
liked  him. ' ' 

"  Oh — like!  Anyone  likes  a  man  of  Eddie's 
type.  But  I  don't  want  you  to  marry  a  divorce 
when  he  has  been  free  for  barely  six  months !  It's 
scandalous — impossible!  ' 

They  had  been  through  this  before.  Mary's 
strong  will  rose  visibly  in  her  face,  and  the  indom- 
itable intention  to  marry  whom,  and  when,  she 
chose.  The  date  had  been  fixed  for  next  month. 
Lady  Alex  had  stormed,  reasoned  herself  into  rea- 
son, and  ended  by  kissing  Eddie  and  very  nearly 
shaking  him  at  the  same  time. 


WANDERING  FIEES  305 

"  You  ought  to  be  thankful  to  hand  me  over  to 
him,  aunt.  And  you  are  not  above  flirting  with 
him  yourself!  "  added  Mary  derisively. 

"  He  would  flirt  with  anything — it  is  no  compli- 
ment to  me,"  said  Lady  Alex  impatiently.  "  If 
you  tied  a  skirt  round  a  broomstick  and  left  it  with 
Eddie  he  would  begin  by  making  eyes  at  it  and 
end  by  getting  really  rather  struck.  That's  the 
man  you  've  got,  Mary.  Of  course  he  is  adorable, 
I  grant  you  that ;  but  always  from  someone  else 's 
point  of  view  rather  than  his  wife's." 

"  And  yet  I  shall  be  very  fond  of  him,"  said 
Mary  composedly. 

"  You  will  have  to,  to  make  your  married  life 
endurable. ' ' 

"  I  think  the  one  thing  a  woman  never  forgives 
is  having  nothing  to  forgive!  "  said  Mary  slowly. 
Her  eyes  deepened.  Some  shadow  from  last  year 
seemed  to  fall  in  them  and  cause  them  to  expand 
and  lose  their  childishness. 

"  You  will  have  plenty  to  forgive  with  Eddie 
Thorne!  " 

"  He  will  follow  wandering  fires  and  they  will 
lead  him  into  trouble,  and  then  he  will  come  back 
to  me,"  said  Mary,  with  sudden  conviction.  "  I've 
been  there  myself.  You  can  let  us  alone,  Aunt 
Alex — perhaps  we  are  only  suited  to  each  other." 

Lady  Alex  looked  at  her  a  little  curiously  as  the 
car  slowed  up  at  the  Palladium  and  they  got  out. 
She  was  secretly  fond  of  Mary,  and  she  grudged 
her  unsatisfactory  marriage,  though  she  was  wise 
enough  to  see  that  it  might  have  been  a  worse  en- 
tanglement. Thorne  was  at  least  a  gentleman  ac- 
cording to  her  own  standard,  a  man  whose  family 
one  knew.  Lady  Alex  had  heard  nothing  from 
Mary  of  any  personal  experience,  but  she  could 


306  WANDEKING  FIRES 

make  a  shrewd  guess  that  there  had  been  an  es- 
cape. .  .  .  That  half -hint  in  the  girl's  last  speech 
confirmed  the  impression. 

Colonel  and  Mrs.  Laycock  were  waiting  in  the 
vestibule  of  the  hall,  with  the  seats  already  booked. 
There  was  a  pause  of  greeting,  of  references  to 
what  was  to  come,  of  fresh  excitement.  Then  they 
passed  on  into  the  hall  itself. 

The  curtain  was  down  for  the  moment,  and  the 
hidden  band  was  giving  the  music  of  ' '  Patience. ' ' 
Mary  wras  too  young  to  do  more  than  recognise  an 
air,  but  Colonel  Laycock  picked  up  the  words, 
humming  them : 

"Yes,  the  pain  that  is  almost  a  pleasure  will  change 

To  the  pleasure  that's  almost  pain, 
And  never,  ah  never!  our  hearts  will  range 
From  the  old,  old  love  again ! ' ' 

"  Aunt  Alex,"  said  Mary  suddenly,  "  do  you 
remember  Miss  Alicia  Thirlston  ?  I  always  forgot 
to  ask  you. ' ' 

li  Alicia  Thirlston?  Oh,  yes — she  had  a  craze 
for  amateur  theatricals,  and  we  used  to  act  in 
duologues  together.  I  believe  she  went  on  the 
stage  later,  but  she  never  did  anything." 

"  I  met  her  when  I  was  with  Block's,  and  I 
lived  next  door  to  her  before  I  came  back  to  you," 
said  Mary,  with  a  little  shrug.  She  never  masked 
her  adventures  of  the  past  year.  *  *  She  was  an  old 
dear !  I  liked  her. ' ' 

"  She  was  an  unsuccessful  woman,"  said  Lady 
Alex  trenchantly.  "  I  have  no  use  for  unsuccess. 
Alicia  was  plain,  and  her  brains  were  the  wrong 
calibre  for  her  monde.  I  daresay  she  is  happier 
as  she  is  now. ' ' 

For  a  minute  Mary  thought  of  an  attic  under 
the  roof  of  a  storehouse  in  Hammersmith,  where 


WANDERING  FIEES  307 

the  sparrows  fed  upon  the  window-sill,  and  of  an 
old  woman  with  ugly  green  eyes  and  a  long  upper 
lip  wrho  had  once  belonged  to  the  world  of  which 
Lady  Alex  Ratrick  was  part  and  parcel.  Lady 
Alex  in  her  sables  seemed  impossible  to  link  up 
with  Alicia  Thirlston,  even  in  amateur  theatricals. 
It  was  unforgiveable  not  to  be  a  success  of  some 
sort  in  Lady  Alex's  wrorld.  Mary  attempted  no 
defence  of  Miss  Thirlston,  an  indeed  there  was 
none,  save  that  she  was  a  woman  who  could  live 
with  failure.  Mary  had  simply  liked  her.  Per- 
haps she  might  have  said  so  three  months  ago. 
Now  she  looked  at  Eddie 's  diamonds  on  her  finger, 
and  said  nothing. 

The  hall  filled,  and  the  first  picture  appeared  on 
the  screen.  It  was  the  comedy  before  the  star 
piece  of  real  drama.  Whoever  calls  the  cinema 
educative  must  be  referring  to  the  education  of 
a  child's  picture-book  or  the  rough  fun  of  a  fair. 
It  was  robust  in  humour,  uproarious,  highly  col- 
oured in  action  if  not  in  fact.  The  education  of 
Comic  Cuts  writh  the  old-time  sentiment  of  "  Uncle 
Tom's  Cabin."  Now  that  she  understood  the 
technique,  Mary  watched  it  with  interest  as  some- 
thing clever  in  production,  costly  beyond  the 
dreams  of  the  audience,  who  sawT  motor-cars  pro- 
ceeding at  an  impossible  rate,  people  performing 
acrobatic  feats,  and  the  collapse  of  buildings  that 
could  only  be  due  to  earthquake  shocks.  Not  edu- 
cative, save  in  nimble  trickery.  People  round  her 
laughed  with  the  huge  guffaw  of  an  effortless 
brain.  They  were  tickled  with  the  fun  of  a  little 
man  and  a  fat  woman  strutting  about  to  fall  over 
the  simplest  obstacle  and  contort  themselves 
struggling. 

11  How  stupid!  "  said  Lady  Alex,  wiping  her 
eyes  from  tears  of  laughter. 


308  WANDERING  FIRES 

"  Those  are  knockabout  artists — they  earn 
their  pay!  "  said  Mary  dryly. 

"  They  can't  really  do  that!  "  said  Mrs.  Lay- 
cock.  "  Are  they  padded,  do  you  think?  " 

"  Dummies  half  the  time,  I  suppose,  Miss  Tre- 
fusis?  "  said  the  Colonel.  "  Some  illusion  with 
looking-glasses,  I've  been  told." 

' '  Oh,  no,  that  is  their  work, ' '  said  Mary  in  some 
surprise.  * l  The  public  pay  them  for  the  bruises. ' ' 

"  Poor  devils  P 

"  What  a  curious  life!  " 

"  The  public  like  it,  or  they  wouldn't  do  it." 

Mary  remembered  Mrs.  Thirlston  saying  once, 
' '  The  public  is  a  god, ' '  and  sat  silent,  wondering. 
A  motley  god,  accepting  strange  oblations.  Her 
thoughts  went  back  to  Gladys  Smythe  and  her 
type,  asking  different  things  of  the  screen — emo- 
tions, sentiment,  faces  by  which  one  could  imagine 
romance.  Was  that  educative  either?  The  big 
reels  had  cost  some  five  or  six  thousand  pounds 
each,  and  they  were  fresh  and  fresh  each  week. 
The  public  would  pay  for  that  more  cheerfully 
than  for  schools.  .  .  . 

'  *  Your  picture  at  last,  Mary !  ' '  said  Lady  Alex. 

"  The  Woman  Pays.  A  drama  of  human  emo- 
tions. Picturing  Jefferson  Bromley,  Percy  Cun- 
ningham, Mary  Trefusis,"  etc.  In  her  excitement 
Lady  Alex  almost  nudged  her  niece,  whose  name 
was  really  on  the  screen,  readable  by  all.  It 
seemed  almost  a  phase  of  success.  It  was  an  ad- 
vertisement, at  least.  Mary  leaned  forward  with 
a  certain  curiosity  in  her  face,  that  made  her  more 
than  ever  like  a  child.  She  had  never  yet  seen 
herself  on  the  screen,  and  she  experienced  the  odd- 
est sensation,  as  her  figure  walked  into  her  own 
vision,  as  of  one  who  meets  an  apparition  in  broad 
daylight  and  the  most  commonplace  surroundings. 


WANDERING  FIRES  309 

Was  that  how  she  looked  and  behaved  ordinarily! 
Did  her  gown  hang  like  that,  and  was  she  so  ready 
to  smile  at  the  most  impossible  people?  For  a 
minute  it  struck  her  as  ludicrous,  and  she  was  im- 
patient of  the  part  which  had  seemed  so  good 
when  Block  expounded  it  to  her. 

Her  mood  gradually  changed  as  the  film  pro- 
gressed. That  had  been  acting,  even  on  the  screen. 
The  girl  with  her  own  face  and  figure  was  develop- 
ing into  a  woman,  and  there  was  never  any  doubt 
of  the  reality  of  the  man  with  her,  Jeff  Bromley. 
He  was  never  unnatural  or  over-dramatic.  He 
seemed  to  her  exactly  as  he  had  been  every  day, 
off  the  stage,  so  that  he  moved  and  breathed  be- 
fore her  in  his  living  self.  She  caught  her  breath 
a  little  and  set  her  teeth,  afraid  lest  Lady  Alex 
or  the  Laycocks  should  look  at  her  and  see  .  .  . 
something.  She  had  never  betrayed  herself  in  the 
past  four  months  and  she  would  not  now,  for  the 
woman  on  the  screen  wras  dead  and  Mary  Trefusis 
sitting  in  the  Palladium  was  someone  quite  differ- 
ent, someone  who  looked  at  life  from  a  different 
standpoint  and  wore  Eddie  Thome's  diamonds  on 
her  left  hand. 

Would  Eddie,  of  all  her  present  world,  have 
understood?  A  memory  of  him,  with  eyes  she 
could  not  meet  with  indifference,  came  up  to  ease 
the  horrible  choked  feeling  that  had  surged  over 
her.  She  did  not  know  why,  but  she  was  glad 
that  she  was  going  to  marry  Eddie,  and  going 
away  from  Lady  Alex,  with  her  beautiful,  hare! 
exterior,  and  her  beautiful,  hard  mind.  There 
was  a  very  tender  humanity  in  Eddie  Thome. 

The  film  was  really  a  success  for  its  very  inten- 
sity of  passion  and  of  suffering.  Nobody,  even 
in  that  cinema-educated  audience,  laughed,  and 
Mary's  own  party  sat  silent,  straining  forward, 


310  WANDERING  FIKES 

watching  scene  after  scene  with  an  interest  that 
was  almost  awed.  Mary  alone  knew  what  was 
coming — her  scene  with  Jeff.  .  .  .  She  looked 
with  cold  and  almost  repellent  eyes  at  the  face  of 
the  woman  in  his  arms — her  own  face — so  altered 
and  marred  by  feeling  that  she  hardly  acknowl- 
edged it.  Was — that — how  she  had  looked  .  .  . 
and  felt  .  .  .  ?  The  shadow  of  her  own  lost  pos- 
sibilities seemed  to  have  fallen  upon  her  when  at 
last  the  show  was  over,  and  she  was  listening 
with  unconcerned  face  to  the  honest  congratula- 
tions of  her  aunt  and  the  Laycocks.  "  I  did  not 
know  you  had  it  in  you,  Mary!  "  "  Well,  aunt, 
what  of  your  own  histrionic  talent?  Bound  to 
come  out  somewhere  in  the  family.'*  "  Well,  of 
course,  I  always  longed  to  go  on  the  stage!  '  "I 
was  quite  thrilled,  Miss  Trefusis !  'Pon  my  soul, 
you  made  me  cry!  '  "  My  dear  Mary,  you  really 
were  wonderful!  Who's  the  man  who  acts  with 
you?  "  "  Oh,  a  regular  cinema  star — a  well- 
known  man,  Mrs.  Laycock.  You'll  see  him  on  all 
the  big  reels."  She  felt  as  if  she  were  defending 
her  own  heart  from  pin-pricks.  The  horrible  part 
was  that  this  thing  that  she  had  done,  had  given 
to  the  public,  seemed  to  make  her  vulnerable.  It 
was  on  show  night  after  night,  the  reality  of  her 
pain,  the  kind  of  thing  that  a  woman  hides  from 
her  own  soul.  .  .  .  She  remembered  that  when  she 
had  played  the  part  she  was  unawakened,  she  had 
unconsciously  given  herself  away  through  the  re- 
lief of  acting  what  she  felt  .  .  .  but  lie  had 
known.  .  .  . 

It  was  a  relief  to  be  in  the  cool  of  the  outside 
world,  bowling  swiftly  home,  the  keen,  strong  air 
that  was  full  of  the  sea  bracing  her  to  fresh  en- 
durance. The  sun  was  setting,  a  realistic  wound 


WANDERING  FIRES  311 

of  bloody  crimson  in  the  softly-folded  grey  sky, 
and  the  light  came  in  a  ladder  across  the  smooth 
surface  of  the  water  to  the  wet  shingle-sand.  Peo- 
ple were  having  a  last  constitutional  before  din- 
ner, up  and  down  the  front  in  the  clean,  sharp  air. 
The  buildings  stood  out  white  and  touched  with 
points  of  light,  and  the  lawns  were  dense  green. 
The  whole  place  showed  up  prosperous  and 
leisurely,  and  with  no  purpose  save  that  of  amuse- 
ment. There  was  no  shady  side  to  Brighton,  no 
reality  of  human  pain  or  grief.  It  was  just  a 
pleasure-place,  for  people  sufficiently  monied  to 
pay  for  it.  And  the  car,  rolling  along  the  smooth 
road  to  the  costly  flat,  seemed  a  part  of  the  desir- 
able artificiality. 

"  Well,  I  must  own  I  never  expected  to  be  so 
thrilled!  "  said  Lady  Alex,  pausing  at  the  draw- 
ing-room door.  She  seemed  inclined  to  linger  and 
chat,  like  a  child  who  wants  to  discuss  a  party. 
But  Mary  turned  away  to  her  own  bedroom. 

"  We  shall  be  late  if  we  don't  hurry,  Aunt 
Alex — and  there  are  people  coming  to  bridge 
afterwards,  are  there  not?  " 

"  We  have  time  to  smoke  a  cigarette." 

Anyone  else  would  have  followed  the  imperious 
voice  into  the  drawing-room,  afraid  to  thwart 
their  hostess.  Lady  Alex  wanted  to  smoke,  and 
that  was  sufficient  to  make  her  late  for  dinner  or 
bridge  if  she  chose.  Mary  took  absolutely  no 
notice.  She  went  on  into  her  room  and  closed  the 
door.  If  she  did  not  offend  her  aunt  she  would 
inevitably  come  into  the  bulk  of  her  fortune  as 
well  as  the  little  money  that  she  already  had  from 
the  wreck  of  her  father's  affairs.  Lady  Alex  had 
made  it  plain  that  she  meant  to  make  her  incor- 
rigible, unmanageable  niece  her  heiress  unless 


312  WANDERING  FIRES 

hopelessly  estranged  from  her.  Yet  Mary  never 
tried  not  to  offend  her,  and  treated  her,  as  now, 
with  a  secondary  consideration  to  her  own  will. 

She  crossed  the  room  to  the  dressing-table, 
swung  the  threefold  mirror  into  place,  and,  stoop- 
ing down,  looked  long  at  herself.  The  face  under 
the  picturesque  hat  was  more  lovely  than  that  in 
the  pictures,  by  reason  of  its  delicate  colour  and 
serenity.  It  was  not  torn  by  untoward  fate  or 
marred  by  disfiguring  passion.  Reality  may  have 
a  certain  savage  nobility,  but  it  is  not  becoming, 
and  the  girl  who  was  going  to  marry  Eddie 
Thorne  next  month  was  infinitely  more  beautiful 
than  she  whom  Jefferson  Bromley  had  held  in  his 
desperate  arms.  The  face,  with  its  large  clear 
eyes,  densely  lashed,  looked  back  at  her  calmly,  a 
little  grave,  but  quite  composed.  She  took  off  the 
picturesque  hat  and  pulled  her  thick  soft  hair 
rather  lower  on  her  forehead.  The  short  upper  lip 
lifted,  almost  smiled,  and  the  one  dimple  showed 
in  her  round  cheek.  No  girl  could  have  seen  her 
own  image  as  Mary  did  without  a  sense  of 
satisfaction. 

But  the  face  that  she  saw  in  the  glass  was  not 
the  face  that  she  had  seen  upon  the  screen. 


THE   END 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


ID-URL 


*    JAN  9 

mv  7 ~' 


PSD  2338  9/77 


3   1158  00217  2061 


A    000129997     3 


